The Trapped Assassin
By SarahsSupplyCloset
Author's Note: So here is the second chapter. I am very grateful to those of you who read my story, and thank you to everyone who took the time to review. Your words are very special to me, and to my writing process. I'm only human, and reading positive things about my stories makes me want to write until my eyes fall out. So thanks so much. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK. I am not making money writing this story.
Chapter 2: Flirtation Jog
"How far are you willing to go for her?" the wise older man asked the blond hero decked out in a flowy white tunic and black trousers tucked into tall boots. His hair was just as flowy as his shirt, and his jaw was clenched as he frowned, his answer steeped in bravery and adoration.
"To the ends of the earth if I have to!"
"Oh God," she groaned, turning off the television and flopping from her back onto her stomach. "To the ends of the earth if I have to!" she mimicked, her voice muffled by the pillow her face was pressed into.
She was bored. She was tired and bored and half-drowning in whatever the opposite of self-confidence was.
What she really wanted was to be on a jet, headed somewhere for another mission. Even with her feelings of inadequacy and disillusionment, if she could sink her teeth into another job, something to distract her, all of this would go away.
Her burner buzzed over on her nightstand, then. And she quickly crawled over the mattress and snagged it.
"Alone?"
"Affirmative."
"Good. We need you to do an extraction."
She scrambled up to sit on the edge of the bed and pushed her hair behind her ears. "An extraction. Where are you sending me?"
"You aren't leaving Nice, agent. Roland Taft has a yacht moored in the bay. Pictures will be sent to your phone after we hang up. The intel we're looking for is attached to the anchor of the yacht. If we can get our hands on that, all the better."
"It's attached to the anchor?" she asked, making a face.
"It was brilliant up until we got Morris to tell us where it was. Steal the chip on the anchor while it's moored, then get rid of the yacht."
"Get rid of it, Director, sir?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is there a reason you want the yacht gone?"
"The DEA won't have anything to search with the yacht gone. And they won't think to look for the intel."
"So we aren't giving the DEA the intel?"
"Not until we get what we want from it first,. You know the drill, agent. Do your job. We'll talk after."
"Yes, sir."
She hung up and stared at her phone. It beeped again and she opened the text. There were pictures from every angle. "The Belladonna," she said, reading the name of the yacht. "Typical." Rolling her eyes, she stood up from the bed and tugged her shirt over her head. She tugged her green bikini out of her suitcase and quickly changed into it, then glanced at the clock. Three hours until sunset. That was plenty of time for a good swim in the Mediterranean. Exercise gave her energy while also comforting her like nothing else in the world could. And she preferred to think of this as nothing more than exercise.
Her phone buzzed again. "Did you remember to bring the C4?" the text asked.
She rolled her eyes again. "Yes sir," she texted back, instead of what she wanted to say, which was "What am I, an amateur?"
It only took a few minutes for her to load it into her waterproof backpack, and she shrugged that on, holding her wetsuit, goggles, and snorkle all in one hand as she left her room.
The weather was perfect once she stepped outside and started down the path towards the beach.
It had been two days since she completed her last mission, two days since the last time she spoke to Director Graham. And she hadn't yet mustered the nerve to ask him what all of this meant. What was going to happen to her after the four weeks of "vacation"? Would she be sitting at a desk? Would she file reports? Oversee missions from Langley?
She didn't want any of those things.
She wanted her freedom back. The freedom to take a job and complete it however she saw fit. Like it used to be.
It was like she had a leash on, and as the months went by, it got shorter and shorter and shorter.
And she wondered—What would it be like to cut that leash? If she didn't work for the CIA anymore, what would she do? Where could she go? Would they follow her? Would they let her go? Or did she know too much?
Would she have to disappear off the face of the earth in order to live out the rest of her life?
And how long would the rest of her life even last?
Maybe once she got the intel, destroyed the Belladonna, and safely handed it off to a CIA contact, Graham might change his mind. She could still be effective. But did she want to do this anymore?
She was in a haze as she padded onto the wooden dock where she would begin her next mission. A quick grab/blow-up job before dinner would give her more of an appetite at the very least.
"No, no, no. No, that wasn't—I just wanted to ask what sort of a board it is. I'm not—I'm not a thief!"
Turning around from where she was perched against the railing, she saw a young French man gesturing wildly at a taller man whose back was to her. He was accusing him of wanting to steal his surf board.
"I don't know what you're saying! I'm so sorry!" the American said, and she recognized his voice immediately. Smiling a bit, she walked closer, knowing no one else would help the poor guy out.
"What's going on?" she asked the Frenchman in his language.
"Stupid American walked up and grabbed my board!" he spat back in French. "He's trying to steal it!"
"He says he just wants to ask you about it. Do you really think he looks like the type to steal a surfboard?"
"Why did he put his filthy American hands on it?" He spat off to the side.
Sarah turned back to look at the American, amused to no end by the confused look on his face. Pity pricked at her heart, as well.
"He's American," she shrugged at the Frenchman. "Sometimes they don't know how to act in other countries. He didn't mean any harm."
The French surfer sniffed haughtily and ran his eyes down her form. She just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Here we go…
"Have you ever seen the sun set over the Mediterranean?" he asked, apparently having forgotten about the entire issue at hand.
"A few times."
"Would you like to see it with me? Tonight? My apartment overlooks the—"
"I have plans."
She turned back to the American and gestured to the board, still speaking in French because she knew he could pick out a few words, since he seemed to know he was being accused of theft. "You were going to take his board?"
"No!" he exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently. "Where would I even go with his board? I—You don't understand English, do you? No. Sorry. I—Non! Pas…erm…pas de prise. It's pretty! Magnifique! Beautiful board. Just wanted to look at it. Ask him about it."
She turned back. "He thinks your board is beautiful and he just wants to ask you about it."
"I have plenty of other boards just like it. You can use one if you would like to. Tomorrow morning? Sunrise?"
This guy was not going to let up, apparently, so she decided to end the situation as soon as possible.
She turned back to the American. "You should apologize," she said in French. "Excuses," she repeated. "Désolé." She thought maybe that he might understand, considering he used it the other day.
"Oh! Oh, of course! Oui! Monsieur, je suis désolé." He put his hands out, palm up. "No voler," he said a bit lamely.
The Frenchman grunted and shrugged. "J'accepte."
"Thank you," he breathed. "Merci. Merci beaucoup."
With a nod, the young man grabbed his board under his arm and turned back to her. "Are you sure you will not come? I will treat you to the best lobster in Nice. Maybe some champagne?"
"Oui."
"C'est la vie."
He dashed off then as though it was no matter, and she wondered how many other women were out there who would fall under the young man's spell. There were thousands of guys just like him here, perfect for some women, but she wasn't one of them.
"Thank you so much," the American was saying behind her.
She turned and shrugged a shoulder silently. And then she brushed past him toward the end of the dock.
"I—I didn't—Oh, okay. Right. You've got things to do. Me too. Yeah."
She raised her eyebrow at him over her shoulder and smiled a little. He swallowed thickly and seemed almost to sway a little on his feet. She stepped into the wetsuit and tugged it up her legs, aware that he was still watching as she pulled it the rest of the way up, sliding her arms in and skillfully zipping it closed. Then she stepped into the black flippers she'd had dangling from her backpack. "Adieu, mon garçon américain."
With a wink, she fitted the goggles over her eyes and inserted the mouthpiece of the snorkle between her lips. Then she dropped into the water and began her swim towards the bay where the Belladonna was moored, smiling to herself as she thought she heard him yell "Adieu" in a slightly better French accent. She didn't look back, instead continuing to swim further out past the soft waves so that she could have a nice, leisurely swim.
Break
There was no one that she could see on the deck of the yacht. Perhaps with Roland Taft dead, nobody saw the need to look after his possessions. His legal team would sweep it up in the coming days, perhaps give it to his family. Maybe they would sell it.
But by the time she was through here, there'd be nothing left to sell. And nothing left to search for the DEA. They'd look elsewhere for the intel, assuming nothing was left on the yacht.
Or maybe this was just Graham and the rest of her superiors giving Taft one more flash of the middle finger. Blow up his precious yacht. Unnecessary, since he was already dead.
If she didn't follow orders, however, she could kiss her career goodbye.
She peered out from behind the wooden dock's pillar and took a few deep breaths, and then she dove beneath the surface, kicking gracefully until she found the grainy bottom of the bay.
The Belladonna's anchor was sheer, silver, and shaped like a massive land mine. Or some sort of dangerous crystal poking out from the floor of an other worldly cave. It hadn't been cleaned recently, she could tell, so she really had to scratch at the rust with the chisel she had on her wetsuit's belt. It didn't take long for her to dislodge the waterproof canister from where it had been glued. It was only the size of her pinky, like a flat USB drive, but it had been a simple thing to find it.
And now she was headed back up to the surface, this time hugging the hull of the yacht as she came up for air. She blew the water out of the snorkel and submerged again, breathing freely with the snorkel as she skirted the surface and found the rope hanging over the port side railing.
She pulled the snorkel out of her mouth as she bobbed there beside the yacht, fixing her goggles to her forehead so that she could see more clearly, and grabbing the robe in both hands. She gave it an experimental tug, listened for any sounds on the deck, and began to pull herself up, bracing her flippered feet on the shining wall of the yacht as she climbed to the railing.
Peeking over, she saw there was one man. He stood in his bermuda shorts and boating shoes, facing the rest of the Mediterranean, and there was no mistaking the pistol in the holster at his belt.
Security? Or maybe just the captain?
Either way, she had to circumvent him. And there was no way around it—today would be his last day on Earth unless he managed to jump before the explosion. She couldn't afford to waste time saving him.
And he worked for a devil of a man. So maybe…
There was no point in wasting time to justify the man's death. She just had to do her damn job and get out of there.
She pulled herself up over the railing and swung her legs over, silent as she placed her feet on the deck and slid the flippers off. She picked them up quickly and rushed to the wall of the cockpit, crouching out of sight and fastening the flippers to her pack.
It only took a few moments for her to place the C4, before she slid around the front of the cockpit and reemerged on the other side. She had to get belowdecks.
"Hey—!"
The man who came upon her only had time for that, as he practically swallowed her fist a moment later. He would have flailed and yelled as he fell overboard if she hadn't knocked him cold with her punch.
But the pilot or whomever the man standing at the bow had been probably heard his colleague hit the water, as the splash had been loud. And she braced herself in a crouch to wait for him.
When he appeared, she sprang, her arm around his throat. She squeezed until he went limp, falling to her feet. Letting out a calming breath, she snuck down to the hatch and swung it open, quiet just in case someone was stationed down there as well.
She hurriedly moved down the steps, glancing around to look for any life.
And when she didn't find any, she moved deep into the belly of the yacht and stuck the C4 in the corner.
It was five minutes later that the assassin found herself top deck again, several bricks deposited in the yacht. The thing was a goner once she triggered the detonator.
"The hell are you—?"
She swung around with a blade already between her fingers, sending it into the man's hand before he could even point his gun at her. She heard voices coming around the corner of the cockpit as the sailor squealed in pain.
Leaving her knife behind, she ran the entire expanse of the main deck, not slowing down even as she heard bullets cascade off of the wall next to her. She brought her hands up to keep from getting caught by the wood chips flying in her direction, and as she swung herself up onto the railing, she clicked the detonator at her hip, leaping as far as she could away from the ship as it exploded behind her.
The power of it sent her whizzing through the air. It hurt, but it wasn't as bad as it could've been. And she was still able to swim to the surface, easing herself away from the burning wreckage, breathing hard, grateful that she didn't feel any sting from shrapnel or being shot by the men who were surely dead on that deck by now, blown to smithereens.
"Sorry, DEA," she breathed to herself, before fixing her goggles and moving to hide underneath the dock as alarmed voices sounded from above. She swung her bag around, unhooked her flippers, and slid them on her feet one by one, and then she fixed her goggles and snorkel and dunked underwater, swimming back to safety well under the surface.
She ignored the shaking in her hands, chalking it up to adrenaline, trying not to let herself mentally count in her head how many people had died today thanks to her…and how many of them had been innocent.
Break
During the night, it had drizzled on the coastal city, leaving the plants covered in dew, and the sidewalks smelling like wet pavement. The air was perfectly crisp and refreshing and the flowers were pungent, so she decided to change into black exercise pants and a blue sleeveless exercise top to go for a run. It was a perfect morning for a good jog along the water.
The sand felt wonderful under her feet as she reached the halfway point of her run, the waves lapping up around her toes every so often. There weren't many out at this time of the morning, as the sun had barely just risen. Surfers were out riding the waves, but nobody was on shore except for her.
She stopped, jogging in place for a moment, and then she stood still, taking a few deep breaths, her hands on her hips. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided this was as good a point as any to turn and go back. If she went too far, she'd hate herself later, even though she was barely winded.
Letting herself rest for a few moments, stretching to keep her limbs loose, she ambled over to the water and splashed some of it on her arms and neck. She found herself smiling at how good it felt, and then she stood up straight again and began to run back towards her hotel once more.
A good fifteen minutes had passed before she saw a figure moving along the water towards her. Someone else had decided it was a good morning for a run, apparently.
She inwardly shrugged and promptly lost herself in thoughts of her career and what was in store for her once she got back to Langley. The only person in the CIA who seemed capable of talking to her without being condescending was Graham, and he was the only one there she could depend on to stand up for her. If he buckled under pressure from his peers, she would be sitting in an office somewhere for the rest of her career. Doing what, she had no idea. Filing paperwork, maybe. Sitting on her hands for eight hours a day, Monday through Friday.
One thing was for certain, she was only passably decent at vacationing. Taking time for herself. Resting.
She needed to work. She needed a diversion. A job. A mission. Maybe she should have accepted the surfer's invitation yesterday.
That made her snort.
She didn't need that sort of diversion. And anyways, she'd had to get the intel and blow the Bella Donna up before the DEA could get onboard. She highly doubted the surfer would understand if she asked him to wait until she could kill a few henchmen, a pilot, and destroy a yacht before they enjoyed the sunset, some dinner, and most likely sex.
She rolled her eyes at herself. No, she didn't need that sort of diversion, she thought to herself as she and the other jogger passed one another.
"Hey! Hey, it's you! Hi! Bonjour!"
She slowed to a halt and turned to face him, almost laughing at seeing him again. His face lit up in a grin as he jogged in place. "Bonjour," she breathed, smiling politely and putting her hands on her waist.
"We keep meeting like this."
She nodded.
"Wait, you remember me, right? I look all sporty right now, I know. I don't know if that changes anything."
She barely bit back a snort at that. "Yeah, I remember you," she said, and then she turned and jogged away from him, doing her best not to laugh as she waited for him to catch on.
"Wh—Hey! You know English!" He galloped after her as she grinned and kept running along the shoreline. "Did you know English this whole time?"
"Yep."
"Of course you did," he panted. "I don't know how you'd learn it in fifteen hours. That'd be…Wait, you're American!"
"Yep," she laughed, sending him a mischievous grin that showed her teeth.
"You were totally playing me! That's not even cool!"
She simply laughed again, and was surprised when his look of shock melted into pure and unfiltered amusement. He shook his head and laughed with her. "Wooow, okay," he panted as he jogged next to her. "I see how it is."
"Sorry."
"No, you're not. Don't even say you are when you're most definitely not," he said, and she detected not even a trace of flirtation. Just a bit of amusement at his own expense. It was kind of refreshing. And then he slowed a little to fall behind her. "Do you—Is it okay if I run with you? Can I join you?"
She stopped and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.
The amusement in his face fell, but he still had a small smile on his lips. He had a kind face. Candid. And a little exhausted at the moment as he gripped at his side as though he had a cramp. "You can say no!" he rushed on, thrusting his hand out reassuringly. "It's okay! You say no, and I'll go that way," he reassured, flicking his thumb over his shoulder. "And you won't see me again."
"Not too sure about that," she said, giving him a flirtatious smirk. "Can't seem to get away from you."
He chuckled breathlessly. "I can't help that you're stalking me."
"Oh, I'm stalking you. That makes sense." She continued running.
"I'm just kidding!" he called after her, staying rooted to his spot. "Wait! You never answered yes or no! Can I run with you?"
"I don't know," she said, turning and jogging backwards with a shrug. "Can you keep up?"
He grinned and hurried after her. "Yeah, I can!"
"Are you sure about that?" she asked, turning to face forward as he fell in beside her.
"No." That made her laugh. "But I'm sure as hell gonna try."
"I'll give you some advice. It's easier to run with your mouth closed."
"Oooohh! Slap in the face! Ouch! Okay. Alright, fine. I get it. No talking."
She laughed again, rocking forward a little and even having a hard time catching her breath.
They ran in silence for a few minutes then, but she saw in her peripheral that he kept sneaking glances at her. His gaze seemed concentrated to her face, which was definitely new. She was so used to the look the Frenchman had given her the day before, eyes sliding down her long legs and over her breasts. And her ass if she was facing away from them.
She had learned not to get quite so angry, since it helped her in her work every so often, but being looked at like she was a piece of meat in a butcher shop would never have any appeal. She refused to get used to it.
He didn't seem like he was checking her out, though. It was almost as though he were deciding whether or not he should talk to her, like he had a question and was dwelling on whether it would annoy her or not if he asked.
It struck her as odd. Did most people think this much before they spoke? Were people actually that thoughtful? It was a little sweet, she decided.
When he finally spoke up, it was a relief.
"Do you always jog in the mornings?"
"Why? You gonna come out here to find me every morning? I promise you won't be able to keep up."
"Whoa, whoa!" He held up his hands defensively, that grin on his face, and she was struck by how nice his teeth were. His teeth? What the hell? "Getting cocky there, aren't we? I mean, I don't doubt you could run circles around me with your eyes closed, but simmer down."
She laughed. "Do you jog a lot?"
"Not as often as I should. But with that rain last night, it seemed so crisp out here, you know? I love the morning after it rains."
"Me, too," she admitted.
"Everything's just so…" He seemed to struggle for the right word.
"Fresh?"
He chuckled. "Not only can you run circles around me, you're talking circles around me, too. And this time we're actually speaking the same language. How sad am I?"
"I think you're kinda cute, actually." She wasn't sure what prompted her to say that. Maybe she wanted to see how he reacted. But the fact of the matter was that she meant it. He was kind of cute.
And she wasn't disappointed in his reaction. The amusement gave way to a blank look and he slowed to a halt, staring after her as she kept running. She bit her lip to keep from laughing as she heard him scramble after her to catch up again. "Wait, really? Really? Or are you teasing me again?"
"Why can't it be both?" she shrugged.
"I don't know, but I'm starting to wonder if I actually woke up this morning, or if I'm still in bed and this is some sort of dream."
It was corny, but the way he said it, almost as though he was talking to himself, was so sincere. And it was charming in the most disarming way. She giggled for the first time in a really long time…if ever. A real giggle. "You're not dreaming. Or if you are, so am I."
"Then I'm not dreaming. Because you're definitely not dreaming. Women like you proooobably don't dream about guys like me." He grinned again.
"My brain isn't capable of thinking up someone like you," she said.
He did a double take. "Was that a compliment? 'Cause I can't tell."
She laughed again, having to slow down to walk in order to catch her breath. "Well, it was supposed to be, yeah," she panted.
"Oh, good. Well, thanks." He ran a little further along, and then stopped and turned, jogging in place. "Ha! You stopped and I'm still going. How's that for—Oh, this is the end, isn't it?" He stopped and sagged a little. "I feel sheepish."
Laughter had never come quite so easily to the assassin as it had in the 15 minutes of running with this man. She moved past him to the wooden stairs leading up to the path that weaved around to her hotel, and she started up the steps.
Realizing he still hadn't moved yet, she turned on the fourth step and made a face. "Are you coming?"
His smile was slow, building on his face in stages. Warmth spread through her chest and she smiled back, watching as he made to join her.
They walked slowly, and for once he was quiet, still holding his sides as though he was in pain. She hadn't gotten as much of a work out as she usually got when she jogged alone. He'd definitely slowed her down quite a bit. But she found herself not caring even a little.
"I could really go for about a gallon of water right about now," he admitted as they wandered up the path.
"Yeah, so could I."
"Are, uh…Is this your hotel? Sorry, I don't mean to assume you're a tourist. Do you live in Nice?"
"No, no. Though it'd be nice."
"Ha! Good one." She threw him an unsure look. "Nice to live in Nice. Nice. Nice. They're spelled the same but—You know what? I'll stop while I'm ahead."
She let out a soft huff of amusement. "This is my hotel, yeah."
"Fancy that! It's mine, too."
"What're the odds?"
He nodded quietly, seeming to have finally gotten his breath back from the jog. "Do you want to grab a quick coffee? I was gonna just get it from the bar that's right through there," he said, gesturing at the door behind the pool. "Like…a shot of coffee or something. Real quick. To get me through my shower."
She lifted her shirt a little to wipe at her face and nodded. "Yeah. I could go for a quick coffee. And um…a gallon of water."
He chuckled and gestured for her to lead the way.
A few minutes later, they stood at the bar, two small cups of espresso in front of them.
"You know, I never got to properly thank you for saving me from that surfer guy yesterday."
She smiled at him over the rim of her cup and then took a slow sip, licking her upper lip after. "You thanked me."
"Yeah, but not properly."
That made her raise an eyebrow a little flirtatiously at him. "And what's a proper thank you, then?"
He seemed flummoxed for a moment, and then he looked down at the bar and let out a quick breath. "I don't…really know…what I meant by that, actually."
She smiled at him as she felt something stirring in her chest. Something foreign. Something she trusted even though it was foreign. "Well, maybe you shouldn't say things when you don't know what you mean."
His eyes widened as he looked at her and she couldn't keep a straight face for very long, finally cracking a grin and laughing.
He laughed as well. "Daaaang!"
"I'm sorry," she chuckled, crossing her arms. "I just really like watching your reactions. I'll stop messing with you."
His smile was bright, even as he blushed a little. "I don't really mind it, weirdly."
"Yeah, that is weird."
They laughed together again, and he shook his head, throwing the rest of the espresso shot back before setting down the cup again and licking his lips.
"Well," she said, sending a bit of an awkward silence beginning to slip in and wanting to avoid that if at all possible. "I'm going to head up to my room. Shower."
"Oh." He stood up straight and pulled nervously on the hem of his shirt. "A shower sounds great. I'll probably do that. I mean, definitely. I take showers. They're important." He pressed his lips together and shut his eyes in mortification. When he opened them again, she saw him flash her self-deprecating, crooked smile…It was almost like he was sharing an inside joke with her. It made her feel…strangely special.
In spite of that, she knew she was watching him suffer from a broken filter, and she wanted nothing more than to help him out. The only problem was that she didn't really know how. "Thanks for the run. I—Oh, crap," she breathed, feeling like an idiot as she realized she had no money.
"What is it? You okay? Cramp or something?"
She shook her head. "No, I just…I didn't have any room to stash money," she said, gesturing to her outfit. "I was just planning on running and heading back so I've only got my keycard."
"Oh. Don't worry about it. I've got the coffee. It's the least I can do for slowing down your run."
She tried to argue and he lowered his chin to look at her flatly. "Come on. I know you had to run at a way slower pace for me to keep up with you, and even then, I was fighting the worst cramp ever pretty much the whole time we were running. You're a beast." His eyes widened and he turned to face her fully. "You're not a beast. I didn't mean that—I just meant that you're fit. You're really fit. I feel about as foolish as I probably look right now. It's just that I didn't really expect to run into a beautiful woman when I went out for a jog this morning."
Doing her best to pretend she didn't notice the way he was spiraling right in front of her eyes, she focused on the last part, because he legitimately just made her blush. A sincere blush. Because she could tell his words were sincere. His observation about her beauty completely honest in its innocence. "Thank you for that."
"Sure, yeah, I've got a few euros in my pocket. I can handle a couple coffees no problem."
"No, I—" She let out a short giggle. "I meant the beautiful woman part, but thank you for that, too."
"Oh. You're welcome. Annnd you're welcome. All true. I am buying our coffees. And you are beautiful." He chuckled and grabbed the check, writing his room number on it, before passing it back with some money.
Because she was trained as a spy, she took a surreptitious look at the numbers he scrawled down, logged it in the back of her mind, and pretended it was just her training kicking in. It wasn't that she was beginning to form a definite interest in this guy. That'd be a bit stalkerish, after all. It wasn't like she had any reason to go to his room.
"I'll be seeing you, then," she said with a quiet smile.
She swept around him and started for the doorway that would eventually lead into the lobby. But then her feet slowed of their own volition and she felt like maybe this wasn't the best idea, but then again…maybe it was…
She turned back to him and tilted her head, noticing that he looked a little moony as he watched her leave. It was gratifying. "You know what? Do you have any plans tonight?"
He made a soft choking sound, trying to disguise it as clearing his throat, and he shook his head. "Nope."
"How about dinner? On me."
"Yeah!" he exclaimed immediately, quite nearly cutting her off in his enthusiasm. And then he pulled back a little. "Yes. I'd like that."
"Yeah?" A part of her told her to act shy. He probably liked shy girls, the spy voice in her whispered. But she didn't want to be shy. She didn't want to be anything she wasn't. Not with him. Going out on a limb, she grinned with confidence. "Meet in the lobby at six thirty?"
"Okay."
She almost left but then she realized she still didn't know his name, but she knew his room number. It just felt…wrong. "I'm Sarah, by the way."
"Sarah," he repeated. "Nice to meet you, Sarah."
When he didn't say anything else for a few awkward seconds, she leaned in a bit. "And?"
"Oh! Oh, yeah! I'm sorry. Chuck. I'm Chuck."
She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, but Chuck wasn't it. Maybe something a little more…she didn't know. But Chuck? Never. "I'll see ya later, Chuck."
"You will. Definitely."
She grinned one last time at him and swept out of the bar, a surprising skip in her step as she moved through the lobby towards the staircase. And as she took the stairs two at a time, she wondered how making a date with a random guy (who was capable of some really terrible French, it had to be said) was making her feel like she had something really great to look forward to for the first time in a really long time.
She forced the idea that it was just that he'd be a good distraction during her "time off"…and she ignored the voice in her head that wondered what made Chuck a better distraction than the hot French surfer from the day before.
Now you hopefully get more of a feel for the direction this is going in. Please let me know how you feel about it so far! Thanks so much for reading!
SarahsSupplyCloset