Page 10 of My Lucky Star
I reached out to steady him, almost as a reflex, and got my hand stuck between his shoulder and the car door. “Ouch!” I yanked it away and nudged him further from my car, back toward the hotel. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Firm muscles rippled under the warm olive skin and my stomach wobbled. In that moment, I recognized two things – my intense desire to keep touching him, and the danger of it. Satisfied that he could walk without falling over, I pulled my hand away.
We made it back to the front door, through the lobby, and up the stairs.
As he entered his room, he eyeballed the tidily wrapped white sheets for a split second, frowning, then fell like a tree trunk. I swear I saw a cloud of dust in the shape of a skull rise from the mattress. Maybe itwasa little creepy in here.
“Please, don’t go,” he mumbled into the pillow.
I glanced at my phone. 6:34 p.m. Not knowing what to do, I sat on a squeaky chair by the bed. Maybe I could wait until he fell asleep and then sneak away.
As if sensing my thoughts, he rolled onto his side and cracked his eyelids. “Please stay. There are plenty of rooms. You choose.” He wiggled his fingers in the direction of the hallway, looking at me under heavy lids. Bedroom eyes.
Holy shit.
I gave him my best Florence Nightingale smile. “How about this? I’ll sit here until you fall asleep and then come and check on you first thing in the morning. I’ll bring you a New Zealand SIM card so you can get online. I promise.”
His eyelids dipped again, and the corner of his mouth tugged like caught by an invisible fishhook. “And tea.”
“Tea?”
The fishhook tugged harder. “I love it when you bring me tea.”
“When did I bring you tea?” I waited for an answer, but nothing came. After a while, his breathing got deeper, with a hint of a snore, and I took my exit, but not before I allowed myself a moment at his bedside, staring at his impossibly beautiful features. I even took a photo. One quick snap for myself. Who knew if he’d still be here in the morning?
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Chapter 4
Cem
IWOKE UP TO THE SOUNDof birdsong, as loud as the seagulls at home, but with such creative melodies that my ears immediately perked up. These birds weren’t fighting over food. They were having a chat. As I rolled out of bed and cracked the window, the singing grew louder.
My window gave to the side of the building with a slice of overgrown garden. A tall palm tree grew in the middle, evidently a home to thousands of birds. Behind it, the sunrise had painted the sky peach and gold. Peeking to my left, I saw the street and the ocean behind it, all glowing in brilliant pastels.
I padded to the bathroom for the shower I’d failed to take the previous night. How had I even gotten to bed? I remembered the woman, Aria, standing in the doorway. Then, I must have fallen asleep. This jet lag was a dog.
