Knight in Leather (11 page)

Ethan cringed. “Uh. Mate as in
friend
, aye?”

“Okay…” The man nodded slowly. “Bit hot for leather, isn’t it?”

“Getting rid of it now.”

“Why are the folks here so drawn to the leather? We’ve been here for three days and I’ve seen more leather than in any sofa showroom I’ve ever visited.”

Ethan shrugged. “We travel light. Leather is versatile.”

“So is cotton. Maybe you should look into that.”

“Absolutely, sir. We’ll take that under advisement.”

Ethan walked briskly to his room and hoped like hell that Daryn had gotten Laurel stuffed back into her room before that man rounded the corner. Laurel had a knack for making people pay attention to her.

Just not Ethan. There was only one woman he was interested in seeing naked. Anyone else was an unwanted distraction.

So he actually does own a pair of shorts.

Dasha let her gaze rake down the back of Ethan’s body. He stood at the side counter of the suite heaping food onto a plate while in deep conversation with Sully.

She’d made her own plate, fearing a reprisal of the pile of meat from the previous day, but she hadn’t yet touched the food. The barefooted fairy in holey khaki shorts and the faded Sturgis Motorcycle Rally T-shirt was far too distracting. Her fairy had very nice calves.

Simone’s body suddenly blocked Dasha’s view of a certain backside. She stared down at Dasha for a moment, shook her head, and then took the folding chair to Dasha’s left. She leaned in and whispered, “I keep waiting for Kori to pop in. I really hope her uncle is as good at landing as everyone says.”

“Did you figure out where you’re going to put her?”

“Yeah. A room opened up near the office, but I’m thinking that may be a bad spot due to who’s positioned by it.”

“Who?”

Cringing, Simone closed her eyes tight and took her head. “Just…a particularly demanding guest. A suite was supposed to open today, but those people didn’t check out yet. They asked for a little more time.”

“Did you charge them?”

“Well, no, I—”

“Damn it, Simone. You’re not running a charity here.” Dasha stood and set her plate on her chair. “Which one are they in?”

Simone sighed. “You can’t turn them out. You know the rules.”

“I’m not going to turn them out. I’m just going to inform them that you’re going to run their card for the extra day. You have to be hospitable, not taken advantage of. They’ve gotta pay to play. So, which unit?”

“1-B.”

“Be right back. Don’t have any fun without me.”

“I thought you wanted
less
fun.”

Stealing a glance at the side of the room, Dasha let her shoulders bob. “Um. Maybe I’m getting used to the idea of some fresh amusement.”

She navigated around the clusters of chairs and strode through the open door into the muggy night. Down the staircase she went, and she rounded the corner to the unit one away from the end then knocked on the door. No response, but she would have had to have been totally unobservant if she hadn’t noticed the sound of the television creeping downward.

“Nice try.” She knocked again. “Management,” she called. “You folks need to come out of here or we’re going to charge you for the day.”

The door whooshed inward and a woman poked her head out. Clearing her throat, she tucked her dark hair behind her ear and lifted her chin. “We have a late flight.”

“That’s all well and good, but checkout time was noon. That’s posted clearly on the back of your door and was also on the card you signed when you checked in. It’s nearly seven, and we need this room. If you’re going to stay, you’ve got to pay. You’ve been here for nearly a third of a day past checkout time. If you’re leaving soon, I have no problem prorating the cost by the hour if budget is a concern.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Sure I can. Or, I can call the cops. Your choice.”

Muttering under her breath, the woman slammed the door.

“Unbe-fucking-lievable.” Dasha poised a fist, prepared to knock, but before she could, a slight-framed man with thinning hair and a skinny nose appeared in the doorway with his hands up. “Sorry. We’re leaving. I…” He glanced back into the room, then leaned out and whispered, “She said staying over was okay. She said she does this all the time.”

“Maybe some places are generous about checkouts, but you’ve got to arrange late departures in advance. We don’t have a lot of inventory here, so we feel the pinch if people don’t check out on time.”

“Okay. We’re going. Long drive up to the airport, anyway. Should have left an hour ago, but she doesn’t like waiting in airports.”

Dasha took a step back and folded her arms over her chest. “Good luck to you, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s what her father said,” he muttered. He let the door close to a crack.

Dasha heaved herself up onto the separator half-wall dividing the walkway from the parking lot and settled in to wait.

At the sound of a throat being cleared above, she looked up to find Ethan leaning on the railing.

My own personal fairy.
“Am I not allowed to do anything alone?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I figured the smarter move was letting you to know I was watching than you catching me and then getting mad.”

“You do know that I’m nearly thirty and don’t generally
need
to be watched, right?”

His only response was to lay his head to one side and grind his teeth.

Pointless to argue with him
.

At least she knew why he was doing hanging around. He wasn’t trying to stop her from doing anything— just make sure she survived doing what she was going to do anyway. That was a huge difference from what she’d gotten used to with Ben.

The male guest pulled the door open and carried out two large, hard-sided pink suitcases. He set them on their wheels and rolled them around the short wall to the basic white rental car parked at the end. “Great location. I hope we’ll be allowed to come back,” he called out to Dasha.

Dasha cut her gaze to the open door. The lady still hadn’t come out.

“That won’t be up to me,” Dasha said. “I don’t make the rules. I’m just enforcing this one.”

“Understood.” He tracked back to the room.

Dasha glanced up at the second floor. Ethan was still there, and Simone had joined him at the railing.

“How much cleaning does that suite need? Could you tell?” Simone asked.

Dasha shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

The unit was one of the smaller suites—one bedroom with a kitchenette—as were most of the units downstairs. That couple had been there for a week. Knowing Dasha’s luck as of late, they’d trashed the place and she and Simone would be spending the next hour or so viciously muttering while fighting grime.

The male guest came out with a duffel bag and a rolling cosmetics case. “That’s everything. Just need to check to make sure we didn’t leave anything under the bed.” He deposited the items into the open trunk, and his wife
finally
reappeared in the doorway. She wore the strap of her huge designer bag slung over her forearm, and had dark, massive sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

Dasha brazenly rolled her eyes. The sun was still out, but quickly making its way toward the horizon. The sunglasses were unnecessary.

“I’ll be sure to post about our treatment here on TripAdvisor,” the lady said.

Dasha nodded. “Okay. I’ll be sure management leaves a comment in response to remind guests that checkout is at noon. This is a motel, not a rec center.”

“I—”

“Come on, Stephanie,” the male guest said. “Get in the car. Don’t forget we have to turn this thing in before we can make our flight, which we
haven’t
even checked in for yet.”

“There’s an app for that,” Dasha said helpfully.

“Yeah, she didn’t have enough room on her phone to download it. Now we have to check in at the counter and hope that with the unassigned seating system, we don’t end up in middle seats at opposite ends of the plane.”

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing for ya, guy.

Dasha just smiled and nodded.

Stephanie got into the passenger seat and closed the door. Her husband, leaning onto the top of the little car, called over, “We left the key cards on the dresser. Is that all right?”

“Fine,” Dasha said.

They drove away.

Dasha hopped down from the wall and glanced upstairs.

“Go ahead and tell me how bad the mess is,” Simone said.

“Okie dokie. I feel like it’s either going to be just bad or totally fucked up. Place your bets.” Dasha stepped into the room and, freezing in the corridor in front of the bathroom, groaned. “Fuck.”

Wet towels were heaped in the corners of the bathroom and next to the brand-spanking-new wooden television armoire. Food containers were piled high on every flat surface. Glitter, of all damnable things, was ground into the carpet by the dinette set. The furniture was askew, the air was stale, and the bathroom mirror was—for some reason Dasha didn’t wish to speculate on—crusty.

She stepped outside and gave Simone a grim shake of her head. “I’ll go get the housekeeping cart.”

“I’ll do the cleaning. Go eat.”

“Nah. You need to be in the meeting. Catch me up later. This might take an hour.”

Simone furrowed her brow. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine. Call me. I’ll put my phone on speaker so I can hear you talking about me.”

“Ha ha.” Simone tossed down the motel key ring.

Dasha caught it then went to fetch the cart from the storage room.

“I’ll get the linens,” came the too-close male voice behind her.

“Jesus Christ!” Dasha had been bent over checking the cart for disposable gloves and nearly bumped her head on the handle.

“Sorry.” Ethan backed away from the room. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing?”

“Helping. Faster that way.”

“I told Simone I’d be okay.”

“I could argue that the work would be faster with two, but I think you know that I’m simply uncomfortable with you being alone. Being able to see where you are calms my nerves.”

“Thank you for the candor.”

He turned his hands over and shrugged. “I figured there was no use being unclear. You likely already know why I keep following you.”

“I have a pretty good idea of why, yeah.”

“My presence…
bothers
you.”

“It does.” She backed the cart out, glancing back in time to catch his flinch. “I mean, don’t take my behavior personally. You’re not to blame for me being the way I am.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of speaking the words.

He walked around the corner, likely to the office where the better linens were kept in locked storage.

Honesty had seemed to be the best policy. Maybe the truth wasn’t always what folks wanted to hear, but she had to be fair to herself. Expectations were important, and Ethan needed to know where she stood. She wasn’t ready to be what he wanted her to be, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be nice and friendly. That was the way things usually worked in real life, anyway. Folks got to know each other before they made heavy commitments.

That was the mistake she’d made with Ben. She’d let herself get swept off her feet too fast and too trustingly, and then at the drop of a hat, he changed. By the time Dasha realized what was happening, she was already too late to easily withdraw. Getting rid of him had been a traumatic, months-long ordeal.

Never again would she be so naive. Everyone always thought her street smarts were so keen, and she was ashamed to admit she’d had the wool pulled over her eyes with that one.

She pushed the cart to the room, grabbed a large trash bag from the box along with a pair of disposable gloves, and then started clearing away all the food containers and product wrappers.

Ethan stepped in with the bagged bedding and set the linens on the armchair in the corner. “Gods,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah, the room is grosser than you’d expect for two adults who are supposed to be responsible, right?”

“I’d say the mess is almost as bad as Matt and Perry let their room get, but that wouldn’t be true. Their room is cluttered, but not dirty.” Ethan opened the door wide, poked his head out, and looked all around. Grunting, he bent and picked up a couple of empty Franzia boxes.

“Classy.” Dasha pulled the trash bag open for him.

“Makes you wonder which of them was drinking it.”

“Probably more him than her. I’d certainly fill my belly with cheap wine if I could if my company was a harridan like that.”

“He should have switched to something more efficient.”

“Like whiskey?” Eldora had very good whiskey. Dasha wanted to kick herself for not finding out who the maker was. Dasha hadn’t had booze go down that smoothly since the Kool-Aid she’d gotten into during a fraternity party in college that actually ended up being Everclear punch.

“More like a morphine drip,” Ethan muttered.

Dasha snorted and gathered up a pile of damp towels for the laundry basket. “Do Sídhe have dysfunctional relationships?”

“With our mates? No, not generally, although there are some notable exceptions.”

Dasha dumped the towels and swatted some of Stephanie’s clinging long hair off her tank top.
Yuck
. “I wonder why that is?”

“Why we tend to be more compatible on average?”

She nodded.

“Because of what we are. We’re as much spirit as flesh. We evolved in such a way that we cling to partners who give us what we’re lacking.”

But I’m not a fairy
.

She didn’t think that needed to be stated aloud, though. What she wasn’t had to be perfectly obvious to both of them.

She carried the trash bag into the bedroom and picked up wads of paper and yet another wine box. “I can’t believe he actually hoped they’d be allowed to come back after leaving the suite looking like this.”

Ethan snorted in the other room. “Never trashed a hotel room before?”

“Hell no. My momma raised me better than that.” Dasha dropped an unopened condom box into the trash, too. She wasn’t motivated enough to rehome it, and didn’t particularly want to explain to people where the rubbers had come from. “On the rare occasion that my parents took my brother and me on vacation, they made sure we left the rooms virtually spotless so the maids could get in and out. My brother and I grumbled about her vigilance for years, and then my mother finally explained to us that the housekeeping staff had to hit certain quotas and that they weren’t getting paid very much to clean up peoples’ messes.”

“So, you took pity on them after that?”

Dasha fished out a damp bikini from under the bed and carried the pieces out to the cart.
The fuck?
If she’d been in a certain kind of mood, she would have trashed them and pled ignorance if Stephanie ever called to check their whereabouts. It was no skin off Dasha’s teeth to toss them—moisture and all—into a bag to be stored in lost and found for a few days. Stephanie could pay to have the bikini shipped to her—mildew, free of charge.