“Uh, yeah! I’ll be there in a minute!” I rush to the nearest door—a small closet meant for coats and miscellaneous junk—and throw everything in there. Buster follows, holding a squeaky toy in his mouth like he mistook my excitement for playtime.Before I go to open the door, I remember one more final, and very important, detail. I run to my room and whisper shout, “Andrew! Teeny’s here!”
His head bolts off my pillow. “What?”
“Stay in here. Don’t make a sound,” I instruct him. I try to ignore the way his triceps muscles, bulging as he presses the heels of his hands in my mattress, catch my attention. Instead, I don’t bother waiting for a response and rush back to my front door. I take a moment to breathe a cleansing breath, reminding myself to not blurt out that her naked brother is in the next room, and open the door. The whoosh of reality slams into me, as does Teeny’s relieved face.
“Hey, there you are,” she huffs, brushing past me. “Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah,” I muster while my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.
“I could hear your phone ringing when I called it,” she informs me, poking a finger at my phone sitting on the entryway table. “I thought something happened.”
“No, yeah. I guess I was just really tired.” I take my phone in my hands and scroll through the notifications. Sure enough, there are seven missed calls and four text messages from Teeny. And an odd email about an expiring car warranty for a Jeep. I drive a Volvo.
She eyes my current state. Hair in disarray, my attempts to tame it futile, while my puffy eyes show off a night not spent with cucumber slices placed over them. Her discerning gaze pauses over the shirt that obviously belongs to a man. I expect her to question me about it, but she chooses to focus on her early morning visit. “We were supposed to get our nails done,” she reminds me.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Teen. I totally forgot.”
“I can wait if you want to get dressed.” She plops herself on my couch and makes herself comfortable, her obvious intention to continue on with our plans. Buster joins her, and she ruffles up his head.
“Um, you think you can go without me?”
She gives me a sad look of disappointment. “Why?”
“I just…haven’t been feeling too well,” I say, flipping through all of the excuses I can give her. Sickness seems to be the most valid. And believable considering I look like I’ve been dragged through the mud. To add to the pretenses, I press my hand to my diaphragm, feigning an upset stomach. “I’ve been hugging the toilet all night.” I cross my arms over my midsection and hunch my shoulders, adding a little theatrics as I slump onto my couch next to her. I feel like the worst friend in the entire world. Not only did I sleep with my best friend’s brother behind her back, but now I’m masking my hangover with a coincidental stomach bug to get out of spending time with her.
She sits up. “Oh, no. Are you okay?”
I nod through a fake wince. “I just need to sleep it off. I should be fine.”
“Did you want me to go get you something?” she offers. “I can pick up some Pepto.”
I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks though.” I may not believe in hell, but if I did, I’d bet my Volvo I’d be going there in my afterlife.
I stride to the door, desperate to get her out, and thankfully, Teeny follows. I reach for the knob, letting up on my hastiness so I don’t look as frantic as I feel. “Maybe we can reschedule for next weekend?” I ask, attempting to regain some of my composure.
She reaches for her keys. “Sure. Let me know if you need anything. And get some rest.”
“Thanks.” I watch her slip her shoes back on and walk out of my condo. I breathe a quick sigh of relief when I close the door behind her.
Shit!That was close. This is why I don’t drink tequila. It’s dangerous, risky, and apparently leads to a full-fledged fuckfest with my best friend’s brother. Oh my god. I slept with my best friend’s brother. The realization washes over me like being doused with a bucket of ice chips. It makes me feel like some charlatan who just deceived an innocent friend. It makes my stomach churn, suddenly turning a small fraction of my lie into a fact.
“Is she gone?”
My back is to my door with my face buried in my hands. My head perks up at the sound of Andrew’s meek voice. I’m greeted by his still-undressed form. The only item of clothing on him is a pair of boxer briefs. His hair is as disheveled as mine, and the appearance of sleep is evident in his squinted eyes and raspy voice.
I hate that I still notice his arms, remembering those torturous triceps. Or those tattoos and silver chain that make me want to rush back into my room with him, peel off his underwear, and climb back under the covers.
I push aside those thoughts and nod. “She just left.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “What was she doing here?”
I walk away from the door to the closet where I’d stored his things. “We had plans, but I told her I wasn’t feeling well.” He nods at the same time I shove his shirt and shoes into his bare stomach. “You need to leave.”
His keys fall to the floor with a loud clack. My shaky hands pick them and nudge them into his hands, avoiding his insistent gaze.
“Grace.”
I walk to my room, surveying the damage from last night. I’m welcomed by a complete disarray of what used to be my neat and organized room. There are multiple discarded condom wrappers on the floor from the subsequent number of times we had sex after our loose bodies acclimated to each other. The lamp that was sitting at the bedside is toppled over, the cream-colored shade accompanying it, and the comforter isn’t even on the bed. It’s tossed aside, pushed to the floor to give us more surface area on my bed.
