”Mom said, “Hello, Sam, nice to meet you too. Please call me Irene. What are your plans tonight, honey? Will you and your friends be here for dinner?”I said, “I hadn’t thought about it. Would it be a hassle to include everyone? We could do pizza instead if it made it easier.”Mom said, “You know what? Pizza sounds wonderful to me. I wasn’t looking forward to cooking tonight anyway. I’ll chip in for it.”I told her, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got dinner covered tonight.”Mom said, “If you’re set on buying, I won’t try to talk you out of it. See you guys in a minute,” as she headed upstairs to change out of her work clothes.I told Sam, “You are welcome to use the shower if you like. I can hook you up with shaving gear and whatever else you need to clean up. Or, if you are uncomfortable in the bathroom for that, I can grab you a bag, and you can use that river we passed over on the way here.”Sam thought about it and said, “I think I’ll use the river if it’s all the same to you. Typical. A woman who stood in the elevator of the poshest hotel of Quebec. Invited by the most breath-taking woman she had ever met.How could she believe the woman had been sincere, back at the restaurant? How could she find the courage to meet her again? Why would she once more open herself up to be hurt, ridiculed, humiliated?Why on earth had she done what the little, perfumed piece of paper told her to? The paper she'd found with her tip? Why had she walked three long streets wearing nothing but a raincoat? Why had she slipped into a toilet stall after work to get out of her uniform, her bra, her panties even? And the most astounding why: why did she feel tiny drops of her juices run down the inside of her thighs? Why did her extended nipples get so achingly hard as they chafed on the coarse lining of her coat, all the way to the hotel?The elevator doors slid open once again as she reached the ground floor. She took a deep breath and stepped back into the reception area. The damn music.
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