RETRACE Read online

  “Wow…” I feign a girlie giggle. “Can I ask for a small favor though?” I add in a low, happy birthday Mr. President voice. His eyes light as he leans toward me with a smug grin. “Can you please add your wife’s number to the back of the card, so I’ll be able to call her and tell her what a treasure of a husband she’s got?” He flinches, and curses something under his breath, not so polished any more. I need to kill the urge to both kick him in his straying chub, and flip him off. Asshole.

  I take a step closer toward the mirror in the elevator, checking my chapped, reddened lips. This wind is not something I see myself getting used to anytime soon. I clear smudged mascara from under my hazel eyes, combing my fingers through my long, straight hair. A thought about how my mom calls my dark hair silk sneaks to my mind and the familiar feeling of good mixed with ill surfaces, making my heart twinge. I contemplate whether to call home, but decide it’s too soon. They know I’ve arrived safely and that should do for now.

  I throw the room a fleeting glance, leave the carry-on by the bed after getting out my purple toiletries bag, and hurry to the shower. I let the warm water stream while getting undressed. I’ve been looking forward to this shower the entire day. Two more days. Two more days until my own place, my own shower, my own little balcony. As steam starts to cover the glass door, I get under the water, close my eyes, and let the calming warmth wash the day away.

  Chapter 3

  Reeves

  I talk to The Russian on the phone while waiting for the cute receptionist to check me in. “Sir, I’m not sure I’ll be available before the end of the week.” I’m not going on a job before I have my new apartment ready. Anyhow, the thought of the long flight and the predator wife of the man I’m talking to, is not something I’m willing to even entertain right now. “How about I ask Jake to give you a call?”

  My client, The Russian, is not someone that easily accepts no for an answer, but with my current mood, I’m not someone who’ll let anyone make him do anything he is not inclined to do. I take my room key from the receptionist who smiles shyly at me. I give the card a brief look, cataloguing the number and send her a thanking nod. I drape my backpack over my shoulder and use the stairs so the call won’t drop. Or maybe I should have chosen the elevator for that exact reason. I lean my back against the wall beside the door to the room, ending the call.

  “Sir, thank you for the generous offer, but I’ll have to pass this time.” To his less than pleased assent, I press end. I’m done with everyone fucking my brains for today. I’m done with this day, period.

  As soon as I enter the room I do a quick peep, drop my bag to the floor, and kick my shoes off. I toss my wallet, keys, and phone to the small table and pull my black long-sleeved shirt over my head. I throw the shirt to the bed, and start unbuckling my belt a step before the bathroom door. I send my hand to the handle and before I know it, the door flings open.

  Holy. Fucking. Sweet. Jesus.

  A startled cry rips the silence in the room, but the only thing I can focus on is the impeccable naked body before me.

  Those tits.

  Fuck. Me. Dead. She’s completely shaven. My eyes literally fly out of their sockets.

  “Turn around, turn around!”

  I finally register someone’s talking to me, screaming at me, and I forcefully unglue my eyes from the masterpiece before me to meet her face.

  Shit. What a beauty! Straight, silky, dark brown hair, big hazel eyes, pouty pink mouth. She flings her arms to cover herself, still urging me to turn around, completely shaken.

  “Talk about room service. Best. Hotel. Ever,” I say with an amused bite, still very much facing her. Truth be told, there’s nothing I can really do. That’s a vision I’m not willing nor able to stop gaping at, even if I wanted to. She huffs, and turns her back to me, only to reward me with a direct view of the greatest gift in the form of a most supreme piece of ass. My dick twitches, highly appreciating the generosities showered at him.

  The bathroom door is slammed in my face followed by, “I’m calling security.”

  “Hey, it’s you parading naked in my room, babe. No need to call in the feds.” The door opens, and two livid hazel eyes, beautiful but pissed as hell, squint at me from the narrow space.

  “Get out of my room now!” Her nostrils flare and I find it mighty charming.

  I can’t subdue the smile crawling back to my lips. “I’ll do whatever you want, but the thing is that you are kind of in my room.”

  Her stare narrows to thin slits. I take a step back and reach for the key I’ve left on the table and flash it at her. When she sees the number on the plastic evidence, confusion takes over her delicate features. Damn she is pretty. Getting out of the bathroom, she secures a towel over her breasts. She can go ahead and cover herself with cement for all I care. What’s needed is already imprinted safely in my memory.

  I hold my hands up in surrender with a side curve of my lips, and say, “I guess there must be some sort of a mix-up.”

  For the first time since this delightful encounter began, she really looks at me, and her guarded, panicked expression gradually fades. I barely hold in a chuckle as I notice it’s her checking me out now.

  “Hey, turn around, stop looking at me!” I say, making a production of covering my bare chest with my hand and snort, bringing the livid expression back to her face. Only now, an adorable flush is added to her cheeks. I could be a total dick and ask her to come with me to sort this thing out at reception. I play with the appealing idea for a few long seconds, making myself grin.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing. Can you just leave,” she says, and when my eyes fly to hers, her lips crack at the edge.

  I can’t overlook the fact that my mood that was about to cross Hellville’s border has surprisingly turned around. “This room is equally mine.” I state the obvious, buying time. I don’t give a flying fuck about this room, or any other for that matter, but if it gives me more time to drink her in, I’ll be damned if I’ll make any effort to move. She wrinkles her nose in what seems a pensive trait. Damn adorable.

  “Give me a moment to get dressed,” she says, taking a few steps to grab a purple carry-on. I run my eyes over her long legs. The view is quite magnificent. The towel is doing a great job of barely covering more than a few inches below her ass. She has mocha, endless legs that glimmer in a velvety kind of way. My dick assures he got the message my mind just sent him, and I need to adjust myself. The zipper’s friction is not something I need against me right now. She shuts the door behind her and I shrug on my shirt for her sake. That’s definitely a case of high-class meets good girl. By no means is she my lately “easy type,” the one I’d treat like nothing but a piece of ass I’d like to tap and send on her way. I’d have this one for breakfast, snack, lunch, and dinner. Who am I kidding? I’d have her via IV.

  Even though her body is now fully clothed, it does shit to relax the situation in my pants. It just instigates it even more. She has one of those shoulder revealing kind of loose shirts on. It’s obvious she’s braless. My eyes are magnetized to her teasing, pointed nipples that peek from under the delicate fabric. Her incredible legs are stretched below low, very low, cut-offs. That’s a first… I’m not sure which version I find more attractive, the naked one, or the hinting one. One thing I can’t argue with, she is as sexy as she is exquisitely beautiful.

  “I’ll just call the reception,” she says as she makes her way to the phone on the round table between two embroidered wing chairs. Her back is to me and I can’t break my gaze from her ass. In a matter of minutes I’ve turned into a horny stalker. Stellar.

  “Hi, I’m calling from room 255. Apparently there’s been some sort of confusion. It’s seems you’ve double booked the room. There’s a gentleman here who apparently was also assigned this room.” I listen to her as she speaks and detect some remnant of an accent. It’s quite faint, but still there. “Hold on please,” she says and turns to look at me over her shoulder.

  “The
y need your name,” she does that nose wrinkling thing again and the corner of my lips tugs.

  “It’s Mitchell, Reeves Mitchell.” Her eyebrows rise and she gives me a curious little gaze.

  “Oh, I see,” she says to the phone, after giving them my name. “Ah, don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” she adds. “Thank you so much, he’ll be there soon.” She puts the phone down. She leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms. “Apparently we share the same last name.”

  My eyes squint at her, and it’s not because of the explanation she’s just provided, it’s because of her body language as she gave it. Something she said makes her uncomfortable, as if she were lying. Probably it’s not about the mix-up as I’ll be able to validate it soon. Maybe it’s about her name?

  Strange… And I’d know it. This is what I do. A part of my expertise is reading people’s body language/behavior. One of the many perks of having your life at risk, constantly.

  “I see,” I grab my backpack. “So, enjoy my room, I’m going to thank reception for this bonus…” I gift her with a wicked side smile. She holds her lips with her teeth, but her try is futile, as they pull up enough to reveal a smile. “So, for the sake of proper conduct, Miss Mitchell,” I send out my hand for a shake, “you know my name…”

  She observes my offered palm for a short moment, and fills it with her soft one. Bare, groomed fingernails, just the way I like. In unison our stares drop to where our palms link. Something’s happening there, something that produces energy with unworldly speed.

  “Miss Mitchell,” she says, prompting our stares to re-meet. Her expression a transparent tease. I nod, amusement playing on my face.

  “Well, we’ve crossed nudity off the list, so I guess it’s safe to say we should be okay on a first name basis…”

  She mirrors my glee. “It’s Nia.”

  Nia. I repeat her name in my head. Everything about her is just what I like, neat and natural, and absolutely gorgeous. All the good reasons for me to get the hell out of here.

  “It was a pleasure,” I say and send her a wicked grin.

  She sighs with a smile, in a “what’s done is done, I can’t take it back,” kind of shy way.

  Chapter 4

  Nia

  The moment I hear the small thump confirming the door has been shut, I rush to secure the metal chain. No more surprises. God, that was embarrassing, it of course couldn’t have happened with someone less attractive. It had to happen with a candidate who’d leave anyone else in the dust in the auditions for my G.I. Joe fantasy, my favorite one. The one that always does the job, exceedingly well.

  Wrapping my knee length beige cardigan around me, I tuck my legs under me and pour a cup of tea from the Jasmine infusion pot I ordered in. I lift my notebook’s screen up and wait for programs to load. Clicking on the music folder, I take a sip of the ceramic, white mug. Dragging music files into a new folder for my first lesson, I end up with too many, and start eliminating. Thrill fills me at the thought of teaching again. I can’t wait to get to know a new group of young girls. I usually teach ages 4 to 6, the age when innocence and sweetness are still at their peak.

  Opening a memo, I dot down a list of errands for tomorrow: get accessories for the new apartment, deal with paperwork for the new job, mainly all things related to settling in a new place. A smile crawls to my lips as I think about a visit to Pottery Barn. I’m on a budget and can’t go too wild but sometimes all it takes is a few items to set the right ambiance. A stream of excitement of everything new makes its way through me, briefly, till my eyes are drawn to the new message flickering at the taskbar.

  My mother.

  The thought of home doesn’t take long to join with the familiar twinge in my heart that never fails to remind me of what I’ve left behind. I close the screen, leaving my hand on top so it won’t somehow lift up. I’m not ready to deal with anything linked to home yet. I leave the threatening device be and walk away, deciding to call it a night.

  Night rituals after, bringing the TV to life, I flip through the shows till I land on a movie channel. I watch the credits of a movie that ended with a teary scene. Fluffing my pillows behind me, I wait for the next one to start. When the G.I. Joe theme song starts I can’t help but crack a brief smile.

  ~~~

  When you sleep in hotels you can never anticipate the level of morning light you’ll be assaulted with. The brightness I blink my eyes open into is borderline abusive. I’m not exactly a morning person, and that would be putting it in the most minor sense. I do not like mornings. Mornings represent another day to pass, another day to bear.

  The first half of the day flies by before I can even notice I have an hour left until my lesson begins. Fifty two minutes and thirty seconds to be precise, in which I need to squeeze-in buying stickers I plan to gift the girls at the end of the first lesson, pick up my dance clothes from the hotel, and maybe manage to grab a small bite to eat.

  ~~~

  A soft smile plays on my lips as I watch the girls attempt to perform the few little steps I taught them for the last thirty-five minutes. The bright studio is full of joyful energy. It’s as if pink exploded in here, its sparkly fallout splashed all over the small dancers.

  I clap and smile wider at them as they bow in disarrayed unison. “Great job!”

  Their elated, adorably flushed faces beam at me. They rapidly take their place, to my hand gesture, sitting on the floor in front of me. I open my palm to reveal colorful, magic unicorn stickers. “You did such an amazing job. I think unicorns are in order.” Ten lit up pair of eyes eagerly watch me as I move on my knees from girl to girl and press a sticker below their collarbone.

  “Miss Nia,” a round freckled face with one of those plastic (pink of course) glasses pips. I shoot her nametag a glance.

  “Yes, Michelle?”

  She smiles shyly. “Can you dance for us?”

  I send the round clock above the door a peep.

  “Yes, yes,” several sweet voices crackle at once. I nod with a warm beam. They all align to sit with their backs against the studio’s mirrored wall, below the wooden rail, as I turn to put a new song on. I go with one of my recent favorites, an energetic summer tune.

  I start to get into the rhythm, smiling at the girls. Movements reflected on the mirror before me distract me for a short beat. I nod at the few parents who have gathered to watch us before the lesson ends. The chorus comes and I close my eyes, feeling the music funnel through me, letting it reach my core. For these moments everything else freezes, it's like I'm in a bubble in which the only thing that matters is the music and my moves.

  With the accelerating drums beats I sway weightless. I add synchronized twirls and subtle Samba moves, floating. The band holding my hair slides to the floor, letting it free to scatter over my face, back and shoulders. I lose myself in my dance, uniting with the music. As the last notes play I flicker my eyes open and motion for the girls to join me. They bounce around me giggling, eagerly mimicking my moves. We all bow as the song winds down and I clap enthusiastically.

  When I turn around to hug them and show them to the door, I find an army of parents watching us through the glass wall. I get a few raised eyebrows from a group of mothers and some overly excited grins from a couple of fathers. But what catches my attention is the emotion, or lack thereof on Mrs. Perry’s face. She has her arms folded on her chest, her head slightly tilted toward one of the mothers who is talking to her. Is it me, or does she not look pleased at all?

  The girls hug me, distracting me from a sudden unbidden worry. I crouch down to hug them back and wave them goodbye as they skip toward their parents. Worrying my lips, I turn back to get my memory stick that holds the music and the bottle of water I left on the floor.

  Mrs. Perry still talks to the parents as I pass by her, it’s her look my way that prompts me to stop.

  “Could you visit me tomorrow morning for a short chat?” She asks right after excusing herself to a blabbering parent.

 
“Sure.” I say with puckered brows, pulling my hair back in a ponytail grip and letting go. She nods and turns back to the waiting mother. She doesn’t mention a specific time and I don’t ask, a gut feeling tells me to just let it go.

  I swing the locker-room door open, cursing under my breath. Whatever happened in there doesn’t seem to be in my favor. Did I overdo it with the dance? Shit, I really wanted this job, and the girls are so sweet. My high finishing the class had officially crashed to the floor. Quickly, I change my baggy dance pants to jeans, and drape on a cream, knee length cardigan over black triple spaghetti strap top. I comb my hair back with my fingers and tie it high in a thin band.

  “Mitchell?” I hear someone talk beside me as I continue shoving my stuff to a small duffel bag. My heart makes half a jump at the tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turn back to a pair of smiling, blue eyes. “It’s Mitchell, right?” For a brief moment I observe the beaming lady with the bouncy, purplish hairdo, till it registers that here too I’ve filled my application form as Nia Mitchell.

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?” She asks with an air of doubt.

  “Yeah, yeah, it is. Sorry, I was just thinking about the lesson.”

  She sends me a dimple ornamented smile. She extends her hand for a shake, which I mirror. “I’m Alex.”

  “Hi, Alex. Nia.”

  “So, Nia, a bunch of us are heading to Jake’s, wanna join?”

  She’s friendly. Maybe I should go with her, it would be good to talk to people rather than go back to my room and work hard on doing everything but think.

  “Um, I guess. Who’s Jake?”

  She laughs, and it’s an ascending, contagious sound. “It’s this nearby bar we all go to, much too often.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Chapter 5

  Reeves