The Mexico Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

was fairly large, and although shabby and run-down, it was an improvement over the Happy Hours Lodge. The boy had taken me at my word, and there were twin beds. While we waited for the ice and tequila, Sharon walked over to one bed, sat on it, and bounced up and down a couple of times. She looked up at me, her eyes half closed.
        "I guess you don't like me very much," she said.
        "I like you fine, baby," I said. "But I'm tired."
        She pouted. "I could make you sleep real well."
        She probably could.
        "Anything you could do to make me sleep," I said, "we can do in one bed. But I'm used to waking up alone."
        She had taken her bag and gone into the bathroom and closed the door by the time the desk clerk returned with the ice and drinks.
        I paid for the stuff and told him I wanted a call for eight in the morning.
        I was sitting up on one of the beds with a couple of pillows propped behind me when I heard the shower go off. I had stripped down to my shorts. I was dead tired, but for some reason was no longer sleepy.
        I was taking a drink when the bathroom door opened and Sharon came into the room. For a second I thought it must be a different girl. Her face had been scrubbed clean of the make-up, and the eyeshadow was gone. She had combed and brushed her blond hair and parted it on one side. It hung down to her shoulders.
        She wore nothing but a man's pajama-top, which was unbuttoned halfway down the front and ended not more than six inches below her navel. Her thighs and legs and feet were bare.
        She stood for a moment in the doorway, her head cocked on one side, sucking on her index finger, watching me.
        You might have taken her for a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, if it wasn't for the expression in her eyes, an expression which reminded me of every whore in the world.
        I began to understand how that fat deputy sheriff who ran the Happy Hours Lodge as a sideline had become involved with her. I also began to doubt her own version of their relationship.
        "I guess I will have tequila, as long as that's all there is," she said.
        Watching her as she walked over to pour the drink, I saw she was making sure I saw everything there was to see. At least what she had was worth seeing. With the drink in her hand, she sat on the opposite bed, leaning forward, and the pajamas were open to expose one brown nipple on a pear-shaped breast.
        I hadn't wanted her, I hadn't wanted any woman for a long time. But in spite of myself, I could feel my loins tighten. I could sense the beginning of an erection.
        Looking over at her, I thought, she's young, she's pretty, she's desirable, and, God knows, she certainly seems willing. Then the image of Ann Sherwood came to my mind.
        Ann was beautiful and desirable, but I had let her go, made no real effort to hold her and have her. Then, for Christ's sake, why was I getting an erection now, a week too late?
        Sharon's voice brought me back to reality.
        "I want to stay with you," she said.
        "I have some business here, and then I'm heading south, and you're going back to the States."
        "No. No, I want to stay with you. I'll go south with you."
        I shook my head. "Sorry, baby, you just don't fit into my plans. What I have to do, I have to do alone."
        "I'm not going back," she said.
        "All right. Stay here then. But I'm moving on."
        She took the glass from my hand and went back to the bottle on the dressing table.
        Watching her, I suddenly knew that I didn't want another drink. I didn't want to go to sleep either. I didn't want to be lying in that bed alone. Maybe I didn't want her, maybe I only wanted to prove something to myself. In any case, I said, "Never mind the drink. Come here."
        She put the bottle back on the table, turned, looked at me curiously.
        "I said, come here."
        She