Page 17 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
I chuckle, enjoying the tight way the woman squeezes me, like I’m a child of hers returned to the fold. She and her husband have stayed at my place in Raleigh a handful of times. Tim’s dad shakes my hand, not bothering to lower his beer from his lips as he does.
I’ve been warned the Buchanan parents take their vacation drinking seriously, and that I should expect a week full of tipsiness.
The next few minutes involve greeting Tim’s fiancée Caroline, and meeting Melony’s wife Diana, and three-year-old son Mason. Tim’s lab, Cooper, approaches me with a wagging tail and lolling tongue. After introductions, I end up leaning on the railing, sipping my beer, and listening to the family discuss the merits of beach versus mountains. Apparently, last year the vacation house was in Wyoming.
“Olive, why don’t you show Theo his room? So he can get settled before dinner.”
“You mean so he knows where to stumble to after you ply him with your skinny-dipping sangria?” The young woman responds, smirking when her mother only shrugs with an innocent smile.
Skinny-dipping sangria?
I don’t have time to ponder what that drink might entail, because the next moment, Olive’s warm, strong hand has hold of my wrist, and I’m being led inside.
“Where are you going? Dinner’s almost ready!” Tim yells after us as his little sister pulls me toward a set of stairs.
“Keep your pants on. Just showing Theo our room.”
Our room?
Down one level, we come to a closed door. “This has to stay shut at all times. Jezebel and Cooper don’t mix.”
“Jezebel?”
Instead of answering, Olive opens the door and pushes me through, revealing another flight of stairs. The ground level of the house lacks the open flow of the top floor. We walk down a short hallway, passing a bathroom, before entering a room with two beds.
“Welcome to the bottom of the bed hierarchy.” Olive gestures with her half empty glass to the small space.
“The what?”
There’s an open suitcase full of women’s clothes on the floor and rumpled covers on the larger of the two beds.
This can’t be happening.
What’s the big deal? You’re ending her chapter, remember?A mocking voice in my head throws the words back at me.
“The bed hierarchy,” Olive explains, oblivious to my inner panic. “If you’re going to attend Buchanan family vacations, you better memorize it.” She sits with a bounce on the big mattress, the movement dislodging a few strands of hair from her messy bun. The dark curls brush her cheeks, framing intelligent eyes that watch me as I stand in the middle of the room. “It’s undeniable that every rental has better bedrooms than others. That’s why you want to reach as close as you can to the top of the hierarchy.” Olive holds a hand high above her head. “Number one, Mom and Dad, a.k.a., the wallet. They’re paying, they get first choice.”
I sit across from her, trying not to stare at her toned, tanned legs.
Her hand drops an inch lower. “Tier two, infant. You have a newborn; you get a good room. Tier three, pregnant. Big belly, big bed.” Olive pats her flat stomach and takes an over-exaggerated swallow of her alcoholic beverage.
“What comes next?” I ask, fascinated despite my apprehension.
“Next is couple with young kids. So that’s where Melony, Diana, and Mason fall. Then you have couples, Tim and Caroline. Next is single with a pet.” Olive tilts a thumb at herself. “Last is single. Or, at least, didn’t bring a partner with them.” She points to me.
“I’m single.” The words are out before I consider why I felt the need to share my relationship status. “What about guests?” My last hope I’ll find my way into a room without this woman sleeping feet away from me.
She snorts. “That’s not a category. You fall where you fall. And you, Theo Philips, are under me.”
If only.
I shake my head at the thought then flinch at a strange yowling noise.
“What was that?”
“That’s Jezebel.” Olive tilts her head, and I follow her gaze.
Framed in the doorway is a grey-striped cat with a snaggletooth.
