Waiting outside his hotel room, I feel desperate. This defeats the whole purpose of a one-night stand.
“No strings,” I told him with slurred speech.
But I’m sober now.
My husband is dead.
And I need an alibi.
Like I said, I’m desperate.
When the door opens, I straighten against the wall. He jumps when he sees me.
“Oh, it’s you.”
I should be relieved he remembers me.
“I need you to say you were with me last night.”
He scoffs. “I’m late for a conference.” He puts on his blazer and sidesteps me. But I’m desperate, so I follow.
© Nortina Simmons
A longer fleshed-out version of this story (or maybe even a serial) could be in the works. 😉 Let me know what you think.
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