Elsie

As the hotel room door clicks behind me I inhale deeply, trying to catch my breath. I figured it was him, I knew it was him, but somehow I didn’t fully believe it until he actually said to call him Xander.

Although that’s not why my heart is racing and I’m so excited. I don’t follow reality TV shows. I only know who he is because, well, because everyone knows who he is. Last year he was voted the Sexiest Man Alive.

When we spoke it was natural and normal, and it wasn’t me, the regular girl, meeting famous hot guy. And when he took my hand into his, it felt like Cinderella’s foot slipping into the glass slipper.

Not that it matters, as if anything would ever happen between us. Besides he has a girlfriend, Luna. She’s the one with the reality TV show, Lunatics. He only goes on her show as far as I know, he doesn’t have his own.

“Hurry up and get in here,” Isabel says grabbing my hand and yanking me deeper into the room.

As I walk, Isabel unravels me from the accent blanket. I feel pretty silly, having been wrapped in a throw blanket while talking with the most famous person I have ever met, although at the time I didn’t really think about how I must look.

“Let’s do a few more photos of you and then move on to the nasty shoot,” Becca says in a friendly voice and winking at me. Why on earth is she winking at me?

Taking more photos was the last thing on my mind, but I feel, I dunno, sexy right now and figure why not. Isabel fluffs up my hair for good measure and I position myself in front of the bed. Becca moves in close with her camera and I strike a pose, my legs wide apart, bent slightly forward at the hips and my hands on the insides of my thighs. While I look straight into the camera, I imagine the way I felt when Xander touched me and I think the feeling reflects in my expression with my intense gaze and a hungry mouth.

“That’s it, girl. Work it,” Becca says, moving quickly back and forth capturing me in both wide and close angles. At this moment I actually do feel like a sexy lingerie model and have a lot of fun playing to the camera.

I get more and more bold, and end up sprawling out on the bed. Becca stands on a chair and takes photos of me from above while I move my hands around, running them through my hair and down over my body.

“Sorry, girls. Times up or I won’t get a turn,” Isabel says, grabbing my hand and yanking me off the bed.

“Shit, I can’t be late to relieve Nathan from the front desk,” I say and kick off my heels.

“You know he probably left the front desk like three minutes ago, right?” Isabel says.

I glance at the clock on the desk and realize she’s correct. Without caring that Becca is in the room, I step out of the thong, and realize it’s sopping wet from my interaction with Xander. I shove it deep into my purse before the others notice. Wrestling my way out of the corset, I take a deep breath, glad to be free from the restriction of the boning and that I can finally fill my lungs again and pull on my regular bra and panties. In the interest of speed, I leave on the thigh-high stockings and grab my work clothes from the closet – a navy blue skirt and matching blazer with a white blouse.

“That was crazy, wasn’t it? That guy just walking in here,” Becca says.

“Yeah, Nathan really fucked up this time,” Isabel says, laughing. She’s always teasing Nathan about his mistakes. He’ll never hear the end of this one.

After buttoning my blouse, I realize my fingers were moving so fast that I didn’t line the buttons up properly. I sigh in annoyance and quickly redo them.

“That’s fine, it doesn’t matter. No harm done,” I say. In truth I’m glad the whole thing happened, even if it is embarrassing on my part.

“I didn’t even get a good look at the guy, but he seemed kinda hot,” Isabel says.

“That’s because you chickened out and hid in the bathroom leaving me to deal with him by myself,” I say, pulling on my skirt.

Isabel burst out laughing and says, “That’s because you’re the assistant manager. It’s your job isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t exactly in my assistant manager uniform, was I?”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said nasty,” Becca says, and I snap my head around to see what she’s referring to.

Isabel has slipped on my killer heels and stands with her hands on her hips looking proud. I don’t even know what she’s wearing other than the fact that it isn’t actually clothing. It’s some kind of black satin strapping crisscrosses her body. It’s covering her nipples and crotch and not a whole lot else but damn, it certainly screams fuck me. Her boyfriend, Larson, is not going to be disappointed with these photos.

“You look like a sex machine,” I say.

“Thanks, babe,” Isabel says, not bothering to look my way.

“Okay, I gotta run,” I say, pulling on my blazer.

“Laters,” Isabel says.

“Thanks a lot, Becca. I look forward to seeing the photos,” I call out as I open the door.

“Any time,” Becca says.

Normally I’d take the stairs, even though my knee keeps giving out, but the elevator is waiting and I step into it. While it descends I de-pouf my hair, trying to return it to its normal tame appearance for my position at the front desk. The door opens and I hurry across the stark white hallway to the front desk.

The desk is more of a long counter and runs along one of the walls so that it faces the front door. Along the wall behind the desk are TVs, each one tuned into a different twenty-four-hour news station.

“You’re still here,” I say when I spot Nathan standing dutifully at his station.

“You’re lucky, darling, I had the time wrong. The meeting doesn’t start for another few minutes. And anyway, after the way that I sent Paul Newman into your room I figured I owed you,” Nathan says, his head waggling as he talks.

“I still don’t understand how you managed to do that but it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Nathan inhales sharply and exclaims, “Because Paul Newman is really Xander Whitman, isn’t he?”

I shrug but I’m unable to hide the truth from Nathan. He can spot a bullshitter from a thousand yards. “I think so,” I say, trying to bargain with myself that I’m not betraying Xander’s trust by saying anything definite.

“OMG, did you see the latest?”

“No, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“What rock do you live under, woman?” Nathan looks at me with disappointment.

“A big one?”

“It’s been all explosive Xander Whitman sex scandal all the time over the past twenty-four hours. It’s been looping nonstop on all three of those TVs behind you. Luna said she had to break the silence because he was so crazy in bed. Like even, crazy for me, crazy. And then while you were upstairs there was another breaking allegation saying he’s really, like really really, into pegging,” Nathan says, his voice getting more and more excited and his arms more and more animated with each word.

My mind spins as I digest his words. Does the sex scandal explain why he ended up at this hotel? He seemed so normal, but I guess you can never tell. I have to ask, “Okay, what the hell is pegging?”

Nathan bursts out in his high-pitched laugh and says, “Sugar, that’s when the girl straps on a dildo and pounds his ass like a Texan drilling for oil.”

I screw my nose up at him and turn to look at the screens hanging on the wall, wondering if Xander really does that.

“Why would he do that if he isn’t gay?” I ask sheepishly.

Nathan cackles and says, “Sweet naïve child, all men have prostates. Trust me, it ain’t just the flaming gay ones who like stuff shoved up there.”

I stare silently at Nathan, contemplating what it would’ve been like to wear a strap-on and ream out my last boyfriend’s ass. That would’ve been a great way of venting some of my anger at him for being such a jerk.

“I know, it leaves you speechless, right? Oh, before I forget, your doctor called, something about tests. Now I really do have to love and leave you. Kisses, darling, I shouldn’t be long. Cynthia said it was only a twenty-minute meeting on something or other.” Nathan kisses the air three times and heads off in the direction of Cynthia’s office.

Tests. I swear it’s been two years and all they do is test me more and more and never figure out what’s wrong with me. Although, at the rate my imagination works, maybe not knowing what’s wrong is better than actually knowing.