Page 102 of Play Along With Me
I watch as she gathers the sheet more securely, creating a makeshift toga that somehow looks both ridiculous and oddly elegant on her. Her hair is a riot of tangles, her eyes still soft with sleep, her lips slightly swollen from our kisses. The sight of her like this—relaxed, unguarded, in my bedroom wrapped in my sheets—stirs something possessive and tender in my chest.
"Bathroom's through there," I tell her, gesturing to the en-suite. "Clean towels under the sink. I'll get the coffee started."
"Okay," she says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek as she passes. "Coffee and kissing before 8 AM. You're setting a dangerous precedent, Marshall."
I laugh, watching her disappear into the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. As I measure coffee grounds and fill the water reservoir, I find myself moving with an unfamiliar lightness. My usual morning routine—precise, efficient, focused on the day's training goals—has been disrupted in the best possible way.
The coffee is just finishing when I hear the sound of a key in the front door lock.
I freeze, coffee pot in hand, as the door swings open to reveal my parents—my mother carrying a bakery box, my father trailing behind with a slightly apologetic expression.
"Jake! Good morning, honey!" my mother calls out cheerfully, as if 7:30 AM visits without warning are perfectly normal. "We brought some food before meeting with Audrey. Is that coffee I smell? Perfect timing!"
My brain short-circuits momentarily as several realizations hit simultaneously:
1.My parents have a key to my apartment.
2.Audrey is naked in my shower.
3.Evidence of our evening together is scattered throughout the apartment—her purse on the coffee table, her dress somewhere on my bedroom floor.
4.My mother's talent for awkward timing remains undefeated.
"Mom? Dad? What are you—how did you—" I stammer, setting down the coffee pot before I drop it.
"You gave us the spare key, remember? In case of emergencies," my mother explains, bustling into the kitchen and setting down the bakery box. "This isn't an emergency, of course, but we thought we'd surprise you! Our flight isn't until eleven,and we thought we could come here to see more of you before meeting with Audrey."
"We tried calling," my father adds, looking slightly more aware of the potential intrusion. "You didn't answer."
Because my phone is still on the nightstand. Beside the bed where Audrey and I just—
"I was in the shower," I lie, running a hand through my obviously dry hair. "Um, this isn't really a good time—"
The sound of the bathroom door opening cuts me off mid-sentence. "Jake, do you have an extra toothbrush I could—"
Audrey freezes in the hallway, wearing nothing but my Saints t-shirt, which falls to mid-thigh on her smaller frame. Her hair is wet from the shower, her eyes comically wide as she registers my parents standing in the kitchen.
For a moment, no one speaks. The tableau holds—Audrey in my shirt in the hallway, me in sweatpants by the coffee maker, my parents by the front door with pastries and expressions of growing realization.
Then my mother breaks into a smile so bright it could probably be seen from space.
"Audrey! What a wonderful surprise! We were just going to talk about what time we should leave to meet with you, but this is even better! All of us together!"
My father, to his credit, looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh. "Morning, Audrey. Sorry for the, uh, unexpected visit."
"Mr. and Mrs. Marshall," Audrey manages, her voice an octave higher than normal. "Good morning. I was just... I mean, we were... Jake was going to lend me a toothbrush."
"Of course, dear," my mother nods, her smile turning knowing in a way that makes me want to sink through the floor. "Jake always keeps extra toiletries. Very organized, my son. Always has been. Even with his... sleepovers."
I grin, feeling like I'm fourteen instead of twenty-seven.
Audrey, to my surprise and immense gratitude, regains her composure remarkably quickly. "I think we've been busted, Jake," she stage-whispers. "Your parents are onto our secret dental hygiene rendezvous."
My father snorts with barely suppressed laughter while my mother looks momentarily confused before joining in.
"Well," my mother says, still smiling like she's won the lottery, "don't let us interrupt your... tooth-brushing. We brought pastries! From that French bakery near our hotel. I'll just set everything up while you two... finish getting ready."
"Thank you, Patricia," Audrey says with remarkable dignity for someone wearing only my t-shirt. "That's very thoughtful."
