Page 42 of On My Side
Goddammit. I’d been hoping my staff made a mistake with the last minute reservation, but no, they have to be too good at their jobs.
“Oh,” I say. I need to come up with better words. Better excuses. Because this is humiliating.
I reach over him and collect the towels in my arms. “I’m going to put these in the bathroom for you. In case you need them,” I say awkwardly.
He’s still avoiding my gaze, which makes sense. I’m being a fucking weirdo. “Right. Thanks.”
I shuffle in the bathroom. It smellssomuch like him, the scent heavy in the air like a dense, incredible-smelling fog. I stand on my tiptoes and put the towels on the shelf next to the sink. When I lower myself to my feet, I quietly pull back the shower curtain.
Ihaveto know what this man washes himself with. I’m pleased when I find out he’s not a 3-in-1 guy, but has separate shampoo, conditioner,andbody wash. That must be his secret.
“La la la la la la.”
I should be rushing out of the room at Piper’s text tone, the la la la’s fromGilmore Girls, but I’m not.
“I’m fixing a few things in here,” I call to Ren, carefully flipping the top of his body wash so it doesn’t make any noise. “But that’s Piper. Can you check to make sure everything’s okay for me? Password is 0504.”
“May the Fourth be with you,” Ren says as I inhale the scent. What a fucking nerd.
“Piper’s birthday,” I respond, soaking in the soft smell of sandalwood and sea salt.
“Damn, a dream birthday,” Ren says, voice wistful. “I’ll read the text.”
I take another whiff. God, I wish this was something I could get high off. Maybe it is, Ifeelhigh. Light headed and floaty and…
And did I ever close 4Play?
I freeze, dread filling my body. 4Play is open on Sky’s newest audio and I gave Ren my password and…
I shove the body wash haphazardly onto the shower shelf and lunge towards the door. “Ren, wait—”
My heart is pounding when he glances up from my phone, the screen reflected in his lenses—the blue and gray bubbles of mine and Piper’s text thread.
“Piper wants to know if she could eat your Cherry Garcia if she replaces it tomorrow,” he says, holding my phone out to me.
I take it, hand shaking. “Did… did you text her back?”
“I have six sisters, Audrey. I know better than to give away someone’s ice cream,” he answers.
I try to search his eyes, but he looks away as he grabs his own phone. I watch in the reflection as he goes to his alarms. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired…”
“Right,” I interrupt. “Right, I’ll get out of your hair.”
This time, he meets my eyes and I swallow, fighting the urge to blink.
“You’re not in my hair,” he says quietly. “You’re not… you’re not a bother, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
I force a laugh. “Please, I know myself well enough to…”
Suddenly he’s on his feet and taking a step towards me. “Don’t finish that sentence,” he whispers, eyes intent on mine. “Please, don’t finish whatever you were going to say. I don’t think I can take you talking shit about yourself tonight.”
I stare at him. “I’m not…”
“Yes, you are,” he interrupts. He reaches his hand out, and softly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. When I freeze, he pulls his hand back with urgency. “You talk about yourself like you’re the worst person in the world, and you’re not, Aud. You’re a good person. A good mom. It breaks my heart to hear you talk about yourself that way.”
“You never talk about yourself that way?” I ask, mouth dry. He’s staring at me with an intensity of a total eclipse, and similarly, I know looking at him like this is just as dangerous.
“That’s not what we’re talking about right now, sweetheart.”
