Page 51 of Holidating
“Anytime,” I say, my voice husky. And that's when my phone alarm finally goes off. “Oh, hell. I guess it's nine thirty already.”
“I should get up, too,” Abbi says, sitting up.
Our perfect night is ending, and I’m just not ready. “Should we shower together? And then I can take you out for bagels and a vat of hot coffee. Just to take off the chill in your room. How do you even get out of bed in the morning?”
She smiles down at me. “That sounds nice, and I won’t turn you down. But I do have a system for this. That robe”—she points at a flannel bathrobe over a nearby chair—"is strategically positioned so that I can reach it from the bed.” She leans toward the chair, yanking the robe onto her bed. “Extra layers are the only way to get out of this bed when it’s so cold in here.”
I put a hand on the soft flannel. “This is nice. Is it from that place where you have your internship?”
“Yes. My employee discount is super handy.”
“Will we both fit inside this robe?”
“No.” She giggles. “But I'll turn on the water and call you when it's warm.”
“Good plan.”
CHAPTER 18
PINCH ME
ABBI
Weston Griggs is naked in my shower.
Naked. Inmyshower.
Pinch me!
Getting clean has never been so much fun. We don’t fool around, except for a few kisses. But Weston makes a point of soaping up my back—and my ass. And when I wash his hair he makes appreciative noises and then kisses my neck.
It’s the most fun I’ve ever had on a school day. And I’m sad to leave the warm embrace behind—both Weston’s and the hot water. But we both have things to do. So I pass him a clean towel.
It ought to feel super strange moving around my tiny apartment with a ripped, naked Weston. But the boy is so comfortable with himself and so goofy that it just doesn’t feel awkward.
I’m starting to think that some of his good-natured cheer is a coping mechanism, though. He probably isn’t the world’s happiest human. He’s just learned to find the light-hearted, funny thing in every situation and cling tightly to it.
There are worse traits in a human. I admire him for trying.
“Okay, who can you call to turn up the heat in your apartment?” he asks as we dry off and dress. “Not that I mind the view. It’s verynipply in here,” he says, eyeing my breasts through the bra I’m trying to straighten. “Maybe that’s your landlord’s play.”
“Doubt it. The landlady is a super-cheap octogenarian. She lives on this floor, in a unit at the back of the building. Twice I’ve slipped notes under her door asking for her to turn up the temperature. When that didn’t work, I mailed her a formal request. She never answered. I’m afraid to piss her off too badly. And I only need to live here until May, right?”
“Yeah, but I hate to let the old bat refrigerate you,” Weston presses. “Isn’t there a thermostat you could fiddle with?”
“The controls must be in her apartment. In my apartment, there’s only this metal thing that looks somewhat important. But there’s no way to control it.” I point toward the kitchen, where a dull gray metal rectangle is surrounded by a small metal cage high on the wall.
Weston walks over and stares up at it. “That’s got to besomepart of the heat and hot water system,” he agrees. “And you’d never put a valve that far off the ground.”
“Okay…” I don’t know why he’s so interested. “Do you have a plumbing kink I should know about?”
“Baby,plumbingis very sexy.” He gives me a cheesy Weston wink. “But I’m an architect’s kid. I’ve heard a lot of dinner table discussion about heating. And that might be a thermostat.”
“There aren’t any controls on it. I climbed up on the counter once and checked.”
“Let’s just try something. Do you have a spare dish towel or a washcloth?”
“Sure.” I go back into the bathroom and find him a washcloth. “What for?”
