The Stranger in My suite

“Are you kidding me?!”

The shout of disbelief echoed around the cramped lobby of the Lime Beach Resort as Ellen processed what the hungover-looking receptionist just said.

“Ma’am,” the receptionist, whose nametag stated “Len”, winced, clutching his temples. “Please don’t shout. We would be happy to refund you if you cancel –”

Ellen crossed her arms. “You’re telling me I’d have to cancel the only vacation I’ve had in seven years just because you people overbooked my suite? The suite I reserved? Not happening!”

Len sighed. “Okay then. Please sign the register and pay the deposit for your accommodation. We already gave the key to the other guest, so we’ll have to get a duplicate made for you.”

Ellen did as she was instructed, her disbelief giving way to displeasure. This was what she got for reserving a room at a cheap “boutique hotel” in Lime Beach. Lime Beach was the type of small tourist trap beach town with hotel prices cheap enough for a nearly-broke restaurant owner to vacation. She had known the service would be below-average, if the lukewarm reviews on their website were anything to go by, but this was bullshit!

As soon as the check-in process was complete, Len put an “Indisposed” sign on the desk and came around to heft her two carrier bags into his arms. “Follow me to your room please.”

“You don’t have a porter?”

“He got laid off. So I’m both porter and receptionist now. Two crappy pay checks. Hurray.”

They took the stairs, as the elevator was broken, and ten sweaty minutes later, they were at Room 205, on the second floor. Len popped a skeleton key from his pocket and after a perfunctory knock, shouldered the door open and flung her bags onto the floor, panting far too much for a guy who seemed even younger than Ellen, who was thirty.

Ellen eyed the room with its lacy white curtains, a huge with red sheets, a closet, a nightstand with a lamp and two beanbag chairs.  It wasn’t all that bad, but the air had the sort of musty smell. From the door which led to the en-suite bathroom, the could hear running water.

“Mr. Elliot!” Len called. “There’s been a mix-up with this suite. We reserved it for two people instead of one and this lady won’t cancel so you’ll both be staying here.”

Ellen shot him a dirty look “this lady”, really? But the fact that she’d be sharing the room with a strange man for the next four days took precedence over chastising Len for his awful customer service. “isn’t there another available room?” she asked len almost desperately.

“No, sorry. We’re fully booked for the weekend. You’ll be able to get a room to yourself after that.”

“But-!“

“Don’t sweat it miss, I’m not that bad,” another voice said amusedly. Ellen turned to see her suite-mate strolling through the now-open bathroom door. Her eyes widened involuntarily.

The man – Mr. Elliot, was tall, with jet-black hair he was towelling dry, dark-blue eyes that saw some humour in this that she could not, perfect, clear caramel skin she suddenly longed to feel under her fingers, an enticingly broad, strong chest and narrow waist around which another towel hung low.

Len hastily turned away.

 “They don’t pay me enough. “I’ll have your key ready by tomorrow.” And he was gone, leaving her alone with the mouth-watering stranger, who was nonchalantly riffling through his clothes in the closet.

Ellen ripped her eyes away with a soft curse. She hadn’t gotten laid in roughly three years. This awful vacation just turned into the trip from hell.

“What’s your name?” Even his voice was attractive, with a deep, rich timbre, she noted sourly.

“Ellen Daniels,” she spat. “And you need to put some clothes on.”

“No worries,” he turned his back and dropped the towel without warning. Ellen squeaked and swiftly turned around. “You can’t just- just-“

 Words failed her as the memory of his sculpted rear burned into her brain.

“Sorry. I’m Rick Elliot. This situation is far from ideal for both of us, but I really hope we can get along and not make it weirder than it has to be.”

At least he seemed nice. Ellen took a deep breath. “Yeah, maybe we could make some rules.”

In the end, they agreed to three rules.

One, no getting drunk. Two, hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door if you have “company”. Three, no sexual advances on the other, ever.

When Rick completed dressing, he went down to the bar for a drink. He needed to escape the suddenly cramped room with the long-legged blonde pacing it like a caged lioness.

The barmaid, Rita, knew Rick well. This was Rick’s fourth vacation at the “Resort” and the only reasons he kept coming back were Rita’s soft thighs and her even better martinis.

“Hi,” she purred at him, mixing up a Manhattan for him as soon as he walked in. He waved a hand dismissively and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“The hotel screwed up and I have to share my room with a woman.”

Rita’s lips thinned. “Those dumbasses in Reservations. Man, I should have left this dump and went to the Ritz to keep bar.” They both chuckled.

“Is she pretty?” Rita asked, fearing the answer. Rick sighed. “I think she would be, if she smiled even once. But we agreed on no sex, so that’s irrelevant.”

Rita relaxed. 

Ellen surveyed herself in the mirror. Her short blonde hair was blow-dried and neatly combed, her lips slick with cherry-red gloss, a tight blood-red dress with a low neck-line caressed every curve she had and black stilettos pinched her feet. She couldn’t tell the last time she had dolled up for anything, much less Karaoke Night at a “resort”.

The last seven years of her life were spent toiling in crappy waitressing jobs, until just last year, she had saved up enough to start her own diner.

Money had been tight and vacations were rarities. Her younger sister Angel had all but forced her to go on this one before she had a nervous breakdown or something. Now, Ellen felt antsy and useless. What did people even do on vacations again?

Sit around, drink liquor and rub elbows with strangers probably. She’d much rather be working the evening round at the diner than this.

Len had been as good as his word, and had shown up with a duplicate key at around five in the evening. Her roommate had vanished from earlier in the day and hadn’t returned.

She made her way down to the resort’s “ballroom”, where a stage had been set up with small tables and seats in front of it. The room was dimly lit but she garnered more than a few whistles when she walked inside. There was a goateed blond man on the stage mangling the Bee Gees “Staying Alive” as she sat at the only empty table.

Rick was aware that his jaw was open. But he couldn’t help it. His roommate looked good enough to eat. He was sandwiched between two elderly sisters who hadn’t stopped chatting his ear off, but they became background noise when Ellen had sashayed past him, hips moving sensuously under that tight red dress, cleavage exposed invitingly.

He was just about to get up when the goateed man onstage finished up to deafening applause (they were probably grateful he finally shut up) and went to plop himself in the chair next to Ellen.

Irritation rose, unbidden, over Rick. The guy looked the kind of sleazebag who’d be looking for an easy lay. Rick was about to get up and go over there, but he hesitated. What would even come of it? She was a grown woman, she could take care of herself and – he noted, as she laughed at something Goatee said – she seemed to be enjoying herself. 

Ellen was swiftly losing her patience. The goateed stranger – Skip – seemed to not be able to stop talking. He had invaded her table with pickup lines so awful she had to laugh – and that had only spurred him on. “I’ve always been good with the babes,” he bragged. “I’ve been married three times and I’m still on good terms with all of my ex-wives. But I’m looking for my forever – y’know? The fourth Mrs. James will have to be someone special – like you.”

He winked at her and she rolled her eyes. “Look Skip, I appreciate the compliments but I’m not seeking a relationship right now.”

“I get ya,” Skip rushed to say. “We can definitely only hook up.”

Ellen was about to tell Skip he’d have better luck hooking up with an animal when she saw her roommate walking up unto the stage. He tossed her a glance – and was that desire? – that pooled in her belly – or maybe she was hungry.

He grasped the microphone and began to sing. Ellen practically melted in her seat. The song was Hozier’s “Take Me to Church” and his baritone suited it perfectly. Skip’s attempts at conversation became pure background chatter as she stared at the man she was supposed to share a bed with tonight. Damn.

The hour of midnight found both Ellen and Rick in the only bed in their suite. Said bed was huge, but it still didn't preclude them from feeling awkward as they lay with their backs turned to each other. Neither had been willing to crash on the floor give up three nights of good sleep. but right now, sharing a bed did not feel like a wise idea.

Ellen lay on her side, eyes wide open.

 It had been an hour and she had yet to fall asleep. But soon, the boose she had imbibed and her long day caught up to her, and as she drifted off, she heard Rick’s even breathing from the other side of the bed, indicating that he was already fast asleep. Lucky him…

Something was wrong. She woke up in what felt like minutes later by thrashing on the other side of the bed. She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. What the hell….

Rick was tossing around under the covers, moaning in his sleep. In the dim light of the hotel’s perimeter lights, she saw that his brow was furrowed and his head was snapping back and forth.

“Johnson! Ryan! No!” he choked out. Ellen went still. He was having a nightmare. Quite an intense one by the looks of it. She reached out a hand to touch him, but hesitated. Would he be alright with that? With her, a stranger, touching him in his sleep?

She made up her mind when he uttered a soft shriek and she saw the crystal tear tracks down his cheeks. the sight was oddly reminiscent of her younger sister Angel, who had suffered from bad dreams as a child.

She leaned over and shook him awake.

“Hey. Hey. Rick!”

She squeaked in surprise when he suddenly seized her wrist and pulled it, so she landed on her face in the bed. He surged upright, gasping.

“What?” Then he looked at her wrist in his hand and groaned tiredly.

“I’m so sorry.” He released her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she answered softly, rubbing her wrist surreptitiously. “You were having a nightmare.”

They were both silent then. He refused to look at her, still gasping a little, and seeming to shake. She hesitated again, then ventured: “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

There was silence for several minutes.

“I keep having flashbacks in my sleep,” Rick finally admitted. he had never admitted it to anyone, not his family, not his friends, now here he was spilling his guts to a random dame in a crappy hotel.

Maybe it was because she was a stranger, maybe it was because he could see that she cared for some reason, that he went on.

“War flashbacks. I’ve been put on early retirement from the army and our last assignment was over two years ago. But I still see everything in my dreams.

All the carnage in Afghanistan. Blood everywhere. My squad-mates dying in their own blood and vomit. I – I see them every night...but it’s my cross to bear. Sorry for disturbing your rest.”

Unthinkingly, she laid her hand on his arm. He flinched, but didn’t tell her to remove it. “Don’t be silly. That was a traumatic experience. One you went through for the sake of our country. You can’t help your nightmares.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Well that’s considerate of you. I’ll take some blankets and sleep on the floor. I didn’t think that I’d wake you up with the crap I have going on.”

“Don’t-” she stopped him. “It’s not your fault. Sleep in the bed. I’ll get by.”

He stared at her. She stared at him, surprised at her own words.

“Thank you.”

She licked her lips nervously and carried on. "I know I'm a stranger, but if you ever get another flashback in your sleep - I'm here. That is, if you want to talk about it."

He nodded stiffly.

After that, they both laid back down with backs turned, but neither of them went back to sleep until hours later.

Ellen woke up with a dry mouth and tousled hair. The sun was high in the sky.

She stretched. She hadn’t slept until the sun was hot in over seven years.

“Good morning.” The baritone startled her. She dropped her arms and turned.

Rick was seated in one of the chairs, watching her with an amused smile. “I brought you breakfast,” he said quietly. “You know, to thank you for last night.”

She smiled as she surveyed the room service tray on the table. He blinked at the sight. It was the first time she had smiled since arriving and it was – well, beautiful.

“Think nothing of it,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed. He looked away. He did not need to be aroused right now.

He cleared his throat. Since when had he been shy around women, dammit!? Well maybe now, since he'd made sure no woman had ever seen him having war flashbacks.

“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but could we spend some time together today? I’ve been here before and Lime Beach is an okay town once you know the hot spots.”

Ellen gaped. Did an insanely attractive man just bring her breakfast in bed and ask her to spend time with him while she looked as if she had been rolling in bushes all night?

This was definitely a dream.

Even so, she was willing to see how it ended.

“Sure,” she agreed.