Troika Read Online Free Page B

takes me up to the room, fourteenth floor. There’s a big bed and a table to eat at and a view of the ocean, which is tough to see ’cause it’s dark outside. I’m out of sorts, nervous, and so is he, which I can tell by the way he’s biting at his lower lip and tugging on his ear. Feel free to take a shower if you want, he says, not that you need it, I mean, but you’re more than welcome, and he points to the bathroom door.
    Well, after dancing for eight hours, sweating and guys all over me, damn right I need a shower. So I go inside, throw my purse on the counter, my clothes on the floor and turn on the water. And it’s a great shower with two heads and lots of pressure and all sorts of pretty-smelling gels, shampoos, soaps. I’m in heaven, ’cause I don’t have this in my place. I just got a thin stream of water that’s warm, not hot, and it’s okay for cleaning, but it’s not too good for relaxing. I’m loving the shower and the bathroom’s filled with steam, andwhen I peer past the curtain I can barely see the mirror, it’s so foggy. But then I feel a little draft, chilly, and first thing I think is Julian opened the door and he’s coming in and I’m in trouble. But instead he calls out Perla, take all the time you need in there, no rush, you’ve had a long day. And I’m thinking, well, this is a guy who sure knows how to treat a girl right.
    When I come out in my robe, a fluffy one from the back of the door, Julian’s sitting on the bed with a menu. He looks up and smiles. Room service, and he waves the menu. I think I’m getting the burger, the sweet potato fries and a club soda, how about you? I bounce down on the other side of the bed and grab the menu from him. There’s so many things on there and I wonder if a hotel can really make all this fancy stuff, Cajun salmon, tuna with Asian greens, or if it’s better to play it safe. I’ll have the same as you, but eighty-six the club soda, just a ginger ale with a slice of orange.
    Julian gets up off the bed and says he’s going to take a shower too, real quick. And I’m thinking wow, I can’t believe he’s leaving me alone in the room with all his stuff—his wallet, keys, phone—and that he either trusts me or he’s not too sharp. When he closes the door and I hear the water, I walk over to the dresser and look at his wallet, at the pricey gold watch. I keep an eye on that bathroom door. I put the watch on my wrist, and it feels heavy, the gold. I admire it, move it back and forth so that the ceiling light shines on the blue face, wonder how much it costs, then take it off and place it back nice and soft on the dresser. Then I’m on to the wallet, which is some sort of hide, alligator or ostrich, I don’t know, but it looks expensive and it’s thick, so I’m thinking that it’s filled with cash ’cause he’s not the kind of guy to fill up a wallet with old receipts and discount cards. I start lifting up the edge to see who this Julian really is, how old, where he lives, what he does.
    But before I open it up, I wonder again, is he a trusting guy orsome fool? I take my hand off the wallet and climb back on the bed. I grab a magazine off the side table, check my nails that are all cracked and remind myself to get a manicure. I hear the water stop, a few seconds of soft sounds like he’s drying off, then the knob turns. Is he a trusting guy or some fool? Either way, I’m happy I didn’t look at the wallet, proud even, ’cause it’s not just bad but maybe even a sin to look, a terrible sin, ’cause you can’t punish a guy for believing that a girl’s good. And you also can’t punish him for not being smart enough to know maybe she isn’t.

THE HUNTER’S SON
    J ulian Pravdin’s room in the Siberian orphanage was small, and there he lived with two other boys, one named Petrov and the other Volokh. The three boys shared one mattress; nothing but a misshapen rectangular sack, it was filled with bedbugs and had weird bulges