“Yes!” The word flies out too fast and I tug my robe tighter. “Exactly that. Shower. Post-work cleanse, you know.”
Tamara’s brows tick up, but she doesn’t say a word.
Eli steps into the living room, glancing around. “Place looks dry. You haven’t had any more flooding, right?”
“Nope. All good. Totally dry. Zero floods.” My laugh is manic. I’m going to combust.
He squints at the living room carpet. “No wet patches?”
I choke so violently that Tamara has to thump me on the back. “N-none. Not a single one. Everything’s… bone dry.” My face is on fire.
Eli nods, satisfied. “Good. Wouldn’t want anything left wet.”
If there’s a god, he’s laughing at me right now.
He wanders further in, chatting about what he wants to have for dinner, while Tamara drifts toward the kitchen. My belly flips when I see where she’s headed.
The fucking jar.
It’s still on the counter, Post-its glowing like a goddamn neon sign. Worse, Logan’s hot pink note, the one he’d been holding before he hauled me upstairs, is lying right there, unfolded.
Tamara pauses, fingertips brushing the paper. She glances down, reads it, and her mouth curves into a slow and knowing grin.
Her eyes snap to me.
I shake my head violently, mouthing silently to her.Don’t.
She just lifts her brows and slides the note back under the jar quietly, while Eli calls from the living room, “So how was Career Day? Did Hutchy say more than one word at a time?”
“Totally fine!” My voice jumps an octave. “Kids loved it. Absolutely no trauma of any kind.”
“Good,” Eli says, distracted as he peers out the window. “Man, Betty’s got a sweet Halloween display. Whole street’s gonna be chaos.”
I latch onto the topic like a lifeline, babbling about decorations until Eli finally claps his hands together. “Alright, I’m thinking sushi. You wanna come, Lu?”
I’ve already done that. On Logan’s face. Ten minutes ago.
“I’m good, thanks!” My voice is shrill as I move to the front door and hold it open. “Shower. Definitely need that, uh, shower.”
Eli nods and says his goodbyes before walking out onto the porch, heading for the car. Tamara lingers just long enough to kiss my cheek, her whisper silk and smoke. “Hope whoever’s upstairs just got the best head ever.”
The second the door clicks shut, I press my forehead to it, praying for a quick death. Upstairs, there’s a muffled thump from the closet, followed by a low curse.
I spin, racing back up the stairs. Logan’s already out of the walk-in by the time I reach the bedroom, yanking on his jeans.
“That,” he mutters, “was a fucking nightmare.”
“You think?” My voice is sharp, but my pulse is still rattling. “If Eli had come upstairs—”
“He didn’t.” Logan pulls his hoodie on, jaw working. “But he could’ve.”
“It’s already worse than you think.”
His eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“Tamara…” I swallow, robe cinched so tight it digs into my ribs. “She saw the jar. And the note we left on the counter.”
For a beat, he just stares at me. Then his mouth curves slowly. “Thebest head evernote?”
