Page 9 of Overtime
FIVE
Joss
I should never have cometo stay here. It was a stupid mistake and now I’m dealing with the consequences of that impulsive decision. Standing in front of a shed, trying to decide what to do with resurfacing attraction to a man who clearly still hates me. I pull the latch and prop the door open with a small door wedge just by the entrance when I realize it won’t stay open on its own.
Colton, for all his current dislike of me, would never hurt me purposefully. Not that I’m special. He has a heart of gold. Is probably the kindest person I’ve ever met besides Ben and Violet, and I pretty much have no business going anywhere near him.
Except that Ben had a point earlier. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was Colton. He’d grown up. Shed the insecurities he’d had before. Exchanged the awkward-college-guy style for all the trappings of an insanely attractive grown-ass man. Talks like he has a newfound confidence—not shocking given he’s the captain of what Violet tells me is one of the best teams in the country—and looks at me like I’m ancient history. A mistake he made once that he won’t repeat. In fact, if he hadn’t shown a glimpse of his hand in the boathouse, I’d have assumed he barely even remembered that once upon a time he liked to fuck me. All of that—combined with the fact I’m fairly certain that underneath the new look he probably still has a body at least as good if not better—has me desperately wishing I wasn’t a bumbling mess right now.
But such is life.
I lift up a tarp to try to find the volleyball and net, only to discover that the nightmare in the boathouse has followed me to the shed, and this time it’s wildly magnified. There are hundreds of tiny spiders crawling everywhere. Under the tarp, over the tarp. I look up and see them climbing the wall and the ceiling over my head.
I take a step back, tripping and falling backward. I hit the shed door, managing to keep my balance but it slams shut. Locking me in with Spider Armageddon. I rattle on the door with no luck. So I do what every sane rational grown-ass woman who has her shit together does. I let out a blood-curdling scream and wedge myself into the farthest corner of the shed, trying to get as far away from the spiders as possible.
Violet, Ben, and I are going to havewords.
I look up and see a can of bug spray on the windowsill and grab it. It’s mostly empty which means it can only really be a means of last defense but better than nothing. When all else fails and they’re ready to devour me alive, I can at least take a few of the fuckers with me. I clutch it to my chest and double-check the wall behind me to make sure that it’s at least spider-free.
Just then the shed door pops open, and I see my superhero in the form of the man who hates me.
“What the hell is going on?” Colt steps inside, studying the way I’m cowering in the corner and then searching for the source of my fear.
“The door!” I yell, but it’s too late. It slams shut behind him with a gust of wind off the water, and I hear the door latch slam behind it. “Fuck!”
He turns around and presses on the door, trying to fight the same fate I had. Because now we’re both stuck.
“We’re locked in, aren’t we?” he says at last, pressing his forehead to the door.
“With about a million spiders who want to murder us. Please tell me you have your cell phone.”
“Nope. It’s in my car. Charging,” he says, sounding as defeated as I feel.
“Fucking fantastic. This is exactly how I’ve always wanted to die. With you judging me while these spiders eat my heart out with their itsy-bitsy fangs.”
“Joss…” He looks over at the swarm of spiders on the other side of the shed. “They’re probably more scared of you than you are of them.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s what they would want you to think. They’re clearly closing ranks”
He looks at me and then looks at the bug spray I’m clutching to my chest. He extends his hand for it.
“No. There’s not much left. It’s a last line of defense.”
“Just trust me.”
“Ha.”
“Fine. Don’t trust me, but assume that since I don’t have the same fear that I’m being more rational than you right now?”
He has a point. One I don’t love but can’t argue with. So I reluctantly hand him the can. He shakes it, testing how much is left, and then opens it. He sprays a line along the floor up the walls and over the ceiling, creating a small but not insignificant barrier between me and my worst nightmare.
I let out a relieved sigh, wishing I’d thought of that first.
“Okay?” He looks at me pointedly.
“Okay,” I answer.
His eyes turn back to the door as he sits the can back on the sill.
