Page 37 of Bite Your Tongue

Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel and bend forward, wrapping it around my head to dry my hair before grabbing a second for my body. Growing up, I shared a bathroom with my brothers, and they’d always bitch that I used too many towels, but they didn’t understand what it was like to have long-ass hair that dripped down your body unless it was wrapped in a towel.

Walking in front of the mirror, I take my hand and rub a circle against the glass to clear the steam from it. Staring back at me is a woman who looks happy, but I know she’s happy for the wrong reasons.

That small smile and look of peace are only on her face because a certain man came to see her. And I know this girl. I’ve spent nearly twenty-three years with her. To sum her up in a sentence … she’s boy crazy.

She needs to get her shit together.

She needs to figure out how to be happy by herself.

I sit in the kitchen, waiting for Saylor to walk out of her bedroom after taking a shower. When there’s a knock at the door, I know it’s DoorDash dropping off the food we ordered, and I get up and rush to get it.

When I open the door, I expect the food to be sitting on the step and the delivery guy to be on his way out. Instead, he’s standing there, bag of food in hand, looking down at his phone.

“Hey, so … I think you might have made a mistake on the tip. It’s, uh … a lot more than I probably deserve,” he says, slowly lifting his eyes from the screen. His eyes grow wide, and he stares up at me. “Holy shit, you’re … you’re Ryder Cambridge.”

I panic a little because people might think I live here now and start harassing Saylor. That’s the last thing I want, and I should have been smarter when I answered the door. This guy seems excited to see me though, and I don’t want to come off as a dick.

“Yes, I am.” I nod. “And, uh, no mistake. Merry Christmas, man.”

“Jesus, thank you—thanks,” he stammers, standing there, stunned. “Hey,” he says, stopping like he’s nervous to finish his sentence. “So, you can say no, but could I get you to sign my hat?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding. “Do you have a marker?”

“Oddly enough, I do.” He chuckles before fishing in his pocket and eventually pulling out a Sharpie and handing it to me.

Taking the hat from his head, he passes it my way. I grab it, trying to ignore the fact that it’s sweaty as fuck because this dude seems nice and he’s working on Christmas Eve.

After signing it, I hand it back to him, snatching the bag from his other hand. “There you go, sir.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he says, staring at the hat in disbelief. “And thanks again for that tip. When I saw it, I was excited. But then I was worried it was an error.” Heswallows thickly, holding his hand up. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Cambridge.”

I smile at him because there are a lot of people who would have seen a five-hundred-dollar tip and taken the money and never asked another question. This dude actually waited around to be sure.

“You too, man. Have a good night.”

Slowly, he backs away before going back to his car, and I head inside, locking the door behind me. I know it wasn’t much, but the tip and the autograph meant something to him, and for that, my Christmas Eve is even better than it already was.

Saylor still isn’t out of her bedroom yet, so I decide to get everything out of the boxes and get it ready for her. It takes me opening about six cupboards before I find which one holds the plates, but finally, I get it right.

When I walk to the refrigerator to get some ice for the drinks I got us, something stops me. On the front of the fridge, behind a magnet, is a list. At the top, it saysBefore I Settle Down List. I know I shouldn’t read it; it’s probably private. But curiosity killed the motherfucking cat, and it’ll kill me too. I read each one in order.

1. Do stand-up comedy.

Unlike the others to follow, there’s a line through that one.

2. Spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square and kiss a hottie at midnight.

That one is annoying because I don’t want her to kiss anyone if it’s not me. And seeing as she’s not kissing me right now, I don’t want her kissing any other fuckface.

3. Go on a proper date (that doesn’t end with sex).

4. Get a tattoo.

5. Go to a Morgan Wallen concert. (Making out with him would be a bonus.)

6. WatchWickedon Broadway.

7. Go to France (not the one at Epcot this time).

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