Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Her nostrils flare for an entirely different reason now.
She is disgusted.
Mercifully, she is more subdued when confused by the actions of the opposite sex.
After warning her that I know how to dismantle her voice box permanently, I slowly lower my hand from her mouth.
It takes her a moment to find her bases, but her voice is more respectable once she does. “One, who the hell would walk away from that?” While whistling like a construction worker on a building site, she glides her hand up and down my body. “And two, was penetration involved? Because if something was poked, it could be classed as virginity popping.” She pays my gaped mouth and wide eyes no attention. “Remember Alekstar Quinovic? He had that issue where down there didn’t work unless he was being poked in his…” She pulls a face I can read with no issues, and it has the tension tightening my shoulders easing a smidge. “He didn’t class that as losing his virginity, but when it was multiple fingers and a handful of kitchen gadgets, my opinion on virginity popping changed.”
Since she looks settled for a long conversation on a card she stamped far too young, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and escort her toward the luggage carousel our fellow passengers are surrounding. It is late—or early depending on whether you’re a sun chaser—and I’m more than eager to get out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for almost twenty-four hours and wash off the funk of a long flight.
During the short trek, Zoya continues reminding me of the horrifying men she’s met in her jam-packed twenty-eight years. Her trip down memory lane ends when we reach the baggage carousel assigned by the airline.
“What the…” She storms away from me with the determination of a momma bear about to protect her cubs. Her possessions are the only thing of value she has, so to see her clothing shredded and strewn across the conveyor belt of the carousel is devastating for her. “Someone is about to get a new asshole… and don’t go looking at her.” She points to the lady behind the lost baggage claim desk. “Because she’s sick of cleaning up your guys’ mess just like the rest of us.”
I’ve never seen Zoya so quiet. Anyone would swear the 3,800-dollar compensation check she got for her ruined luggage was a million dollars. She wouldn’t have gotten a single cent if our tickets hadn’t been upgraded, but since she was first-class, she got the max and is tickled pink.
“Imagine how many margaritas this will buy.” She grips my arm as her eyes widen. “Or maybe I could book us a private poolside cabana. Then you’d have no excuse not to come swimming with me.”
“Cabanas don’t offer shelter from the sun’s harsh rays in the pool.”
She slaps my arm before she returns to daydreaming about the luxurious life she could live with her small windfall. I’m not as appreciative of the silence as you’d think. It gives my head too much time to wander back to my exchange with Maksim in the washroom and the possible cause of his rejection.
Twenty minutes of deliberation only awards me more confusion.
I am completely lost as to where his anger stems, and out of time to deliberate further.
We’ve finally arrived at our hotel.
“Wow. This place looks nicer than the online brochures.” Still accustomed to tipping from spending her formative years in the American schooling system, Zoya hands the driver a few low-domination bills from her purse before slipping out the back of his cab.
“It doesn’t even look like the same hotel,” I say after joining her on the footpath outside the massive steel-and-glass architectural structure. “Are you sure you said the right address? Your Russian is better than mine, but maybe you fudged an important detail.”
“I did no such thing.” She barges me away from her before I can search for the reservation she printed out this morning, then moseys into the elaborate foyer.
We added “Doctor” to my name during the booking process, hopeful it might award us an upgrade, but I doubt we will need it here. This place is so stylish. We stand out like a sore thumb in scrubs, shorts, and midriff T-shirts.
Zoya ribs me with her elbow halfway across the glistening marble floor that stretches from one side of the resort-like hotel to the next. “Act like we belong so we don’t get kicked out.”
My reply is barely a whisper. “They can’t kick us out if we’re guests.”
Although I’m telling her no, I straighten my spine, roll back my shoulders, and tilt my nose.
We look ridiculous, but the check-in clerk acts oblivious. “Welcome to Signiel. How can I help you?”
“We’re checking in,” I reply when Zoya fails to acknowledge she was addressed. She’s frozen at my side, gasping like a fish out of water.