Chapter 6

The hotel has a bar, and well-stocked one at that. They have a decent selection of imports on draft, and I can see Oban and Dalwhinnie in the collection of Scotch bottles on the shelf above the bar. Nicole has a chocolate martini, while I order a more manly Bourbon & Ginger.

"This is the life," she says as she takes the first sip of her Chocolatini. "Do you get to do this a lot?"

"I have an office and some sub-peons now, so I don't get to do field assignments all that much anymore. When I started out, I worked in field support, and I was out on the road 180 days out of the year, setting up stores and stuff. Let me tell you that all the martinis in the world are not enough compensation for having to live out of a suitcase half the year."

"Yeah, I guess that would get old after a while."

"You have no idea. I've lost count of the number of times I woke up in the morning without remembering which city I was in."

"Well, at least they pay you okay," Nicole says. "I may have more fun at work, but my paycheck is a whole lot smaller."

"Hey, didn't you tell me yesterday that money isn't everything?"

"Yeah, yeah," she smirks. "There's nothing wrong with making money. My retirement fund right now consists of the hundred Apple shares my dad got me for my birthday one year to teach me about investing."

"Did it work?"

"Shit, no. My idea of a nest egg is a savings account. That, and a shoebox under the bed with emergency cash in it."

"That's more than most people have. I know plenty of well-paid geeks that blow each paycheck as soon as it comes in."

"You don't think about retirement when you're thirty, Frank. Most people don't, anyway."

"Ain't that the damn truth. I can't picture myself drawing Social Security, that's for sure. Plus, I suck at shuffleboard. I guess I'll just have to refuse to get that old."

It's only early in the evening, and the bar is largely empty. I my experience, hotel bars generally see more business in the week than they do on the weekend. The bartender doesn't have much to do except top off our drinks and wipe his counter with a rag. I can tell that he's listening to our conversation with one ear, even though he feigns disinterest.

Before long, we're on our third and fourth drinks of the evening, and I am starting to get pleasantly buzzed once again. Nicole can hold her liquor quite well for someone who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, but at this point it's pretty clear that neither of us will be in shape to drive the car over to Nicole's house again. The prospect is not at all distressing to me. When she climbs off her bar stool to go to the bathroom, I admire her well-shaped butt as she walks away, and the bartender follows my gaze and smiles just a little.

"I don't even care which way you swing, but that is one fine caboose," I say when Nicole is out of earshot, and his little smile turns into a grin.

"Oh, I'm as straight as a number two pencil. And yes, I have to agree with you on that. You're a lucky guy."

"Ain't I just." I down the rest of my Bourbon & Ginger and put my glass back on the bar.

"Another one, if you would, but go easy on the bourbon. I want to stay conscious for a while longer."

"I totally understand," he says, and takes my glass.

"Strong drink giveth the desire, but taketh away the ability," he quotes as he returns with a full glass, and I laugh.

"A learned man, quoting Shakespeare. I bet that works well on the ladies."

"It does," he says with a wink. "Best profession in the world for picking up women. Flick a bottle up in the air behind your back like Tom Cruise, and they practically tear their clothes off right at the bar."

"You learn that kind of stuff in bartender school?"

"'Bartender school'," he repeats with a chuckle. "Shell out a thousand bucks to learn how to mix drinks? Hell, no. I bought a few cocktail recipe books at Barnes & Noble and loaded a mixed drink database into my Palm Pilot. All the training you need—the first few weeks are a bit rough, but then you just sort of fall into it."

I raise my glass in salute.

"Good man. Beats sitting at a computer in a cubicle all damn day."

He laughs again.

"Hell, yeah, it does. I was writing code in Silicon Valley until two years ago. Eighty-hour weeks for an entire decade. Fuck that with a vengeance. Now I work from six to midnight, and I can still make the mortgage."

"Good for you," I say. "Another geek jumping ship and turning his back on his corporate masters."

"Considering the same, are you?"

"Yeah," I reply after a moment of thought. "I guess I am."

I'm well into my new glass of bourbon & ginger when Nicole returns from the bathroom. She sways ever so slightly when she climbs back onto her bar stool.

"Whoa," she says. "That martini packs a punch. I better switch to Diet Coke before too long, or you won't have much fun with me tonight."

"They do tend to sneak up on you if you're not used to them."

"I drink liquor maybe once a month. We go out to bars every once in a while with the dance troupe, but fountain soda is a lot cheaper than cocktails."

"It's better for the waistline, too," I reply, patting my stomach.

"Ah, there's nothing wrong with your waistline," Nicole says. "At least, nothing that couldn't be fixed by a month or two of running and yoga, and laying off the donuts at work."

"Are you volunteering to teach me yoga?"

"Sure," she laughs. "If you want to move to New York, or pay for me to fly up to Boston three times a week."

"Don't give me any ideas. I have savings, you know."

"Those would be the most expensive yoga lessons in history, either way."

Nicole picks up her Martini glass and takes another sip. I watch her face, admiring the near-perfect slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips. I suppose that Little Joe would call her average, the kind of girl he refers to as "two-shot chicks" or "leftovers". I have had the shape of this face in my memory for damn near twenty years, and the years have merely refined her beauty.

"Whatcha looking at?" she asks with a smile as she puts down her glass.

"You."

"Like what you see?"

"Yep. You're pretty... pretty, you know."

She shakes her head, still smiling.

"You silver-tongued devil. Such a specific compliment."

"Can you tell I'm a student of poetry?"

"You were pretty good with that Shakespeare last night. Got me all worked up, I tell you."

"Did you really have no sex for a year and a half before last night?" I ask. She looks at me and shrugs her shoulders.

"Yeah, why? Was it obvious?"

"Not at all," I laugh. "It's like riding a bike, I guess. You don't lose your skills. Not that I know what your skills were before last night."

"Let's see. I had sex for the first time in my freshman year in college. Since then, I've slept with exactly six guys. Including you."

"Six guys since 1988? That's one every six years."

"I was with my college boyfriend for four years, and then with the next one for eight, so that kind of screws up your average. And I've only had three boyfriends since I moved to New York, including Mister Eight Years."

"I admire your consistency," I say.

"What about you? Since we're doing the confessional here, how many women have you slept with since your first time?"

Shit, I think. I've had sex with twice as many women just since I started working for my current employer, and that was just two years ago. I do a mental count and shake my head when I reach thirty.

"You don't want to know."

"Tell me!" She punches my arm lightly. "Come on. I fessed up, and now it's your turn. Don't be bashful."

"Thirty-some. Maybe thirty-three?"

Nicole looks at me wide-eyed for a moment, and then she breaks out in a giggle.

"Frank! You're a complete slut. Thirty-three?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds," I offer. "I don't usually date women for longer than a month or two. It seems that I have the reverse Midas touch when it comes to relationships. Everything I touch turns to shit."

"Well, at least you've had plenty of practice. You're a far sight better than most of the guys I've been with."

"Aw, shucks." I try to play it off casually, but the hot feeling in my cheeks is genuine. "I'm glad you think so."

"Yes, and I'd like to take advantage of your skills some more. I'm pretty buzzed, and it's getting late, and we should head over to your room. You're flying back home tomorrow, and with my luck, it'll be another year and a half before I get laid again."

I look at the bartender, who is most definitely within earshot, cleaning glasses with a rag.

"How can a guy say anything but 'right away' to a request like that?"

The bartender grins at me and shakes his head.

"A guy really can't," he replies. "Done for the evening, I take it?"

He rings up the bill, and I settle it with the remaining cash from my wallet, leaving a twenty dollar tip on a forty dollar bill. The bartender takes the tip with a wink.

"You two have a great night, now."

"Don't think I'm always like this," Nicole says as we walk back through the hotel to my room.

"Like what?"

"You know, so forward. I would have been mortified about that bartender hearing our conversation if it wasn't for the wine."

"You're a bit strange like that," I say. "You didn't mind your parents knowing about the two of us having sex last night, did you?"

"That's different."

"How so?" I laugh. "The guy at the bar is a complete stranger. You'll most likely never see him again for the rest of our life."

"Yeah, but my parents know everything about me. They can take it all in context. The guy at the bar must think I'm a complete slut."

"No, he thinks I'm a complete slut. I'm sure he heard most of our conversation."

My room is upstairs, and we have to go up through a staircase to get there. The doors to the staircase are the heavy fire-proof ones with a pushbar in the middle, and they make a monstrous racket as I open them. We step into the staircase, and I let Nicole go up the stairs in front of me. As we walk up the stairs, her jeans-clad butt is right in my field of vision, and the primal part of my brain suddenly takes over. As we step on the landing in the middle of the staircase, halfway between first and second floor, I grab her arm from behind to turn her around and pull her into me. She responds to my kiss at once, relaxing in my arms after a brief moment of surprised tension. I walk her back to the rough wall of the staircase, pressing into her and increasing the intensity of the kiss, and she surprises me by sneaking a hand between us and cupping the crotch of my jeans, where my suddenly blooming erection is starting to push out a bulge.

I cup her butt with my hands to press her crotch into mine, and I am once again amazed at the tautness of her body. She is lithe and slender, and everything about her is firm. I run my hands under her shirt, exploring her frame as we kiss. I trace the curve of her hips, the flatness of her belly, and the small but well-shaped mounds of her breasts. She increases the frequency of her hand's massaging movements on my erection, and then I can feel her fumbling with the tab of my zipper. Before I can react, she undoes my fly and reaches in with a nimble hand to free my boner from the folds of my underwear. I let out a little groan as her bare hand touches my bare cock, and her tongue seeks out mine with renewed enthusiasm as she slowly but firmly starts to stroke me.

I want to tell her to stop, tell her that I do not want to come all over her here in the staircase of the hotel, but it just feels too damn good. My cock is now hard enough that I could probably stick it through the drywall without damage.

Suddenly, the staircase door below us opens with a bang, and we break our kiss, startled. We hear voices as people are stepping into the staircase not thirty feet below us. There are footsteps on concrete, and it will only be a second or two before the people walking up those stairs will come upon us and call the cops on our asses for indecent exposure.

Nicole quickly takes her hand off my cock and pulls me into a hug, covering my unzipped fly with her own body. I respond to her hug automatically, wrapping my arms around her. Luckily, I am standing with the back to the stairs at this point. A moment later, an elderly couple walks up onto the landing, and we look for all the world like two friends giving each other a good-night hug. Nicole looks past me with a smile and offers a "how are you?", and the elderly couple walks past us and continues their trek up the stairs. She holds me firmly until the old folks disappear through the door at the top of the stairs, and then she pulls her head back to look into my eyes. There is a mischievous little sparkle in her own eyes, and she chuckles softly.

"Never mind us—just getting each other off in public."

I let out my breath and release the tension with a chuckle of my own.

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Fringe Benefits

Michael Lindgren

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