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The first night at the hotel

Even though when my roommate realized what was going on he had offered to find somewhere else to hang out a little while longer, Javier had decided it was time to go home and had left, with both of us seriously frustrated.

"I have to change," Javier said. "Go on my laptop and get directions to Hannah's, would you? I haven't had a chance yet."

He'd written Hannah's address on a piece of paper next to the laptop. While he went into his bedroom to change, I went to the driving directions site and got what seemed to be fairly simple directions to Hannah's. By the time Javier came out of his room, I'd printed the directions.

He looked incredibly hot in a black T-shirt and jeans. I looked down at my own red tank top and denim capris and wished I'd worn something else. I was no match for him at all. "Did you get the directions?" he asked.

I handed him the piece of paper. He scanned it and handed it back. "You're the navigator. I'm driving. Are you hungry? We don't have enough time to order supper like I'd planned, but I have some things in the kitchen."

"I'm a little hungry, thanks."

"All right." He went into the small kitchen area that adjoined the living room. After a moment of rummaging around in the fridge, he emerged with two bottles of Gatorade and a package of danish. "Help yourself," he said. "We can get something more substantial to eat later."

I took a danish and a bottle. We ate and drank quickly; it was already twenty past six, and I could feel Javier's impatience. As soon as I put the last bite of danish in my mouth, he said, "Okay, let's go."

I made sure I had the driving directions, and we left his apartment. He carefully locked the door before we went to the elevators. Once the elevator doors shut, Javier put his arms around me and pressed his lips against mine. His tongue slipped into my mouth and played with my own. I felt an ache between my legs; I desperately wanted him to touch me. But from the third floor to the first was a short trip, and the elevator stopped too soon.

We held hands on the way to Javier's car. "We're running a little late, so I'm going to have to drive fast," he told me.

"That's okay," I said.

He started the car and peeled out of the parking lot. When he turned onto the street, I would have sworn the tires on his side of the car left the pavement. Usually when someone drove like that I was terrified, but with Javier, it was a rush. I felt perfectly safe with him. I laughed with the pure joy of going that fast. "Did I scare you?" he asked.

"A little, but it's fun!" I replied.

"Good," he said. "I was a New York City cop, remember. I used to weave in and out of rush hour traffic; took corners on two wheels. I know how to drive. By the way, what exit do we take off the Pike?"

"I see that. Ten."

After a couple miles, he took my hand and placed it on his leg. "You can touch me, you know," he said.

"In the car?"

"Never done that, huh? Come on, Adrienne, don't get all shy on me. Are you afraid I won't be able to drive?"

"No, I think you could drive no matter what I was doing. I just..." I just was used to the man making most of the moves. Over the months since I'd left my abusive ex-husband and had started having sex with others, I'd learned to touch men, to let myself do things to them, but something about Javier made me doubt myself more than I'd done in a long time. Seeing him again, the disbelief I'd felt the week before that he would even be interested in me had resurfaced.

"You just what? Are you scared?"

"A little," I admitted.

"Of what?"

"I don't know. That you don't want me to do this."

"I just told you I do."


"Whatever, Adrienne. I won't force you to do anything, but I'd like it."

He went through the toll booth onto the Mass Pike to head the hour east to Hannah's. After a few minutes, I moved my hand up his thigh. I was still unsure of myself, but I wanted to make him happy.

His seatbelt was in the way, and I wasn't completely certain I was touching the part of him I wanted to touch.

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