Page 77 of Play With Me

I look down. I’m wearing my favorite shirt for sleeping in, a threadbare T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front in black and white.

“You like Mickey Mouse?” I ask inanely as I hold the door open for him to pass through with my food.

“Uh, yes? I do very much,” Gunther says, not meeting my eye as he wheels the cart in.

“Great. Me too.” This has to be the weirdest conversation. “Why are you doing room service today?” I ask. “I thought you only helped with bags.”

“I am swimming,” he says, looking back down at Mickey and blushing furiously.

What is with him and Mickey Mouse? Did he kiss his first girl at Disneyland Paris or something? Then I register what he said. “Swimming?” I screw up my face as he sets down the tray on my little side table.

“Floating?” Gunther asks.

“Oh, you’re a floater,” I say, understanding.

Gunther stands there inspecting my ceiling. He’s embarrassed I’m in my PJs, that’s all. It’s only a top after all; my bare legs stick out the bottom.

Just then there’s another knock on the door. But this one comes from the interior door.

Jude. He’s been knocking periodically every few hours, even once at midnight last night before he got the hint.

I know I’m being a chicken. I just don’t know what to say to him yet. Not since that kiss that completely destroyed me. The only real communication we’ve had is me texting him to let him know I wouldn’t be making it down for dinner last night.

“Nora?” Jude calls, his voice muffled.

“I will get that,” Gunther says, spinning.

“Oh, that’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to—”

But Gunther must take that as me being polite because he goes ahead and does it anyway, swinging the door open to find Jude standing there about to knock on his forehead.

“Oh,” Jude says. Then he looks over his shoulder to where I’m standing next to my table. “Nora, you’re in your pajamas.”

“Yes, Jude.” I sink down, giving up. “It’s early.”

I’m hungry. I only ate from the minibar last night. As I dig into my waffles, Jude reaches into his pocket for a euro note, and hands it to Gunther. “Thanks G, that’s all.”

Gunther looks at me a beat too long, and Jude claps a hand on his shoulder, manhandling him in the direction of the exit.

Gunther scurries out, and after the door clicks behind him, I’m alone with Jude.

I hear the snap of my bathing suit, somehow the sexiest sound in the world. After the clinic room, I ran straight back here and got myself off in the tub again, this time staring at the door between our rooms, praying he’d somehow find a way to bash through it.

He couldn’t, of course, and when he did knock later, I ignored him.

He comes back to the entrance to the room, and for a moment, we lock gazes.

Then his eyes drop. I can feel his gaze on my body.

Heat rushes between my legs. Is he going to come over here? Will he kiss me again? The ball has to be in his court; I can’t throw myself at him again. I just can’t.

But his eyes dance away from me, looking sideways.

“Wonder what that was about?” I ask, my voice overly chipper. I stuff my face with a bite of waffle to hide my nerves.

Jude leans against the wall. “Those are your see-through pajamas,” he says matter-of-factly. “Gunter was staring at you because he could see your…you know.”

“My what?” I squeak. I look down. All I can see is Mickey. “No, they’re not.”

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