+TYPED OUT-

+ZWEITER TAG-

Kenneth returned to his three-star hotel and fell on the thick, welcoming mattress. The man savored the sensation and the privilege of not having to leech on publishers when it came down to accommodation and other expenses.

What was this bedroom and Amityville hotel? He had to get Monday out of there.

Kenneth took a shower at ten and headed to the fair. Though only a few hours separated their last encounter, the man was eager to see Monday. It had been a while since the man had a stake-less conversation where he knew no judgment or hasty conclusion was drawn from his speech.

 Monday too wished to see the man. She knocked on a few doors to see if anyone had an iron for her dress. She had packed one just in case, and the case was then. The hotel service was lousy. The staff made no effort to help her.

For once, she welcomed the images that flooded her mind with open arms as she ironed her dress. The night spent with Kenneth was a first in her adult life. Never had she just shared a bed with a man in a chaste manner. Kenneth didn't try anything. They kissed; apart from his hugs, the man kept his hands to himself.

Monday quickly got accustomed to his beard and his Tom Ford Oud Wood Cologne that devoured any other fragrance in a room.

The woman's mind was in total meltdown, and the danger wasn't imminent. She practically swam in it. She was taking a risk with her heart by accepting the feelings she held for him. Again the man didn't explicitly say anything, but what were words in reality without action?

Now it was time to observe what Kenneth would do.

Kenneth was older, wealthy, a public personality, a white man; she already imagined how some people, notably her family, would react if they found out. It was her life, but a life with many pairs of eyes watching on both sides. Monday threw out a lasso on all the renegade thoughts and tied them up in the corner of her mind. It wasn't the moment to chicken out on the situation.

She grabbed her phone and dialed.

"Luce."

"Dayé, what's the matter?"

"What do you mean?"

"You never call when you're away. You usually send texts."

"I needed to speak to you."

"How is it going there?" Luce asked while she popped the coins in the Selecta distributor of her ward's floor and pressed the button of her choice.

"Good, Kenneth is here."

"He is?" The woman said as she picked up the apple juice that fell from the distributor.

"Yes, we spent the night together."

"Eh, eh, again. Ha, I guess the man is giving you good medicine."

"No, we slept in the same bed, but nothing happened," Monday touched her forehead, "we talked."

"You just talked?"

"Yes." Why did it sound odd to say they had a conversation? Also, why did Luce seem so surprised?

Perhaps because many placed sex above other factors and the mind inconconclously registered the equation man x woman in bed equaled the action.

Despite the extrovert image people plastered on her, Monday was a sensitive person governed by her emotions. Her all-night conversation with Kenneth scaled higher on her fall in love barometer than their raunchy nights. She needed the discussions and exchanges that most deprived her of having. Sex was never enough; a man needed to make love to her mind before hoping to claim her if Kenneth understood that she was definitely in danger.