Xander gives me a look and I can practically see the single shred of respect he had for me leave his body. Before I decide how I want to play out this humiliation, Xander opens the car door and I watch him leave in one easy motion.
“See you Friday,” I call out without a single drop of enthusiasm.
He waves without turning around. Sexy jerk.
A moment later, my phone pings again. It’s Xander. There’s a photo of him in a dark club with a Cardi B T-shirt sticking to his torso and his hair slicked back from sweat and … who’s that in the background on the stage? Cardi fucking B.
Unbelievable.
“Who even are you, Xander Miller?” I say, studying the photo, but when I look up, he’s gone.
I open my text messages, ignoring Travis from Bone It and his embarrassing use of emoji, and text Emily:Meet me at the mall in twenty minutes.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m in the changing room at Victoria’s Secret with about forty different types of sleepwear from summer flannel (my choice) to lacy negligee (Em’s choice). You’d think they’d have mastered change room lighting in this place, you know, being the home of the angels and all. But no. It is severe.
I’m in nothing but my panties surrounded by three mirrors, which means there’s no escaping my naked body. No matter where I turn, there I am. I’m getting a front row seat to the cellulite on the backs of my legs, which I’ve been blissfully unaware of until this very moment. Who can I call to get a lobotomy so I can leave the store with a shred of self-esteem? I vow to return to my late-night shopping from the safety of my sofa where the lamp in the corner of the room does not accentuate the dark circles under my eyes that I had, up until this moment, thought I’d kept under wraps with creams and serums and solid sleep.
Em’s hand appears through the curtains, handing me three more options. I inspect a particularly lacy number that leavesnothing to the imagination. The product tag reads,A sexy-sweet essential in lustrous satin with delicate sheer lace and eyelash trim. Whatevereyelash trimmeans. Basically, it’s exactly what I’d wear if I wanted it off my body in sixty seconds. Not what I’d wear to ward off old friends/flames/hookups/whatever. I sigh, resigned that I won’t be escaping this change room anytime soon without trying it on.
I rallied Em into this shopping trip with promises of a dramatic retelling of the events of the afternoon. She is an English teacher, after all. It dawned on me as I texted Em that I was going to be sleeping next to Xander for the next four weeks and I don’t own a piece of sleepwear that wasn’t designed to be ripped off in the heat of horny. Em isn’t helping, but she is making it fun.
“So let me get this straight,” she says, her voice muffled through the curtain. I can tell she’s still laughing. “They didn’t need any more single sleepers, so you decided to sign up anyway and sleep withXander—your ‘guy friend’ from university who you slept with then bailed on the next day without so much as a thanks for the orgasms,plural—for four weeks. In front of people!”
“God, Em. You make it sound like we’re making porn,” I say, twisting into the tight lace before bending over. To my surprise, my entire insides aren’t on show. Impressive. I guess Victoriacanmanage to keep a Secret.
“Sleepy Spits Not Swallows,” Em says, deadpan.
I burst out laughing. “Sleeping Booty.”
“What is this? PG13?” she says. “Does the guy that gave you your sexual awakening not deserve better?”
“Cum and Cummer,” I say, going there. I hear a slow clap from behind the curtain.
“And that is why you’re the queen of Bone It,” she says, recalling when we first happened across the app many moonsago. We were hanging our bodies off the bar stools in the corner of the Retreat like bar flies. It’s the kind of bar that opens at midday on a workday. Dark. Sticky floors. Leather-faced locals who serve as a warning sign of your future should you continue to consume alcohol in the afternoon on a Wednesday. It was also the bar that was closest to the school, and we decided we were in dire need of a recovery drink post-death-by-boredom staff meeting that should have been an email. The entertainment we coupled with our beers? Downloading the latest app that promised no dating.
And that’s when I realized we’d hit the jackpot. Men upon men who’re simple, fun, and in a committed relationship withthemselves. Complete with their gym selfies and their V-neck T-shirts and their fedora hats. All the trappings of the perfect one-night stand. Plus, you could filter to within a five-mile radius. We finished our drinks. I swiped right on someone named Chet. Em left. And ten minutes later, Bone It became my app of choice.
“But serious question. Do you know how you sleep?”
“Like a champ?” I say as I peel back the curtain and step out into the main dressing room area.
Em is standing in front of the mirror covered in feather boas. I’m talking the rainbow. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. I don’t even know where she got them; I didn’t see them when we were browsing the racks. But right now, she’s wearing all seven. She looks like a Technicolor Big Bird. That’s Em for you—always finding the fun in the most mundane. Which is why I’ve even entertained the idea of wearinglustrous satin.
“It’s true. Not even your own fart can wake you,” she says, twirling. I stop in my tracks. Oh shit, I didn’t even think aboutsleep farting in front of Xander. Insomniac Xander. Xander who does not sleep. Xander who will hear every single bodily function I can’t control when I’m in the depths of my slumber.
“I sleep fart?” I say, horrified. Em looks at up me with a smirk. If the answer is yes, it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
“Not that I know of,” she says, her smirk turning into a “gotcha” smile. “But you’re the big spoon. You can’t stay on your side of the bed. You’re all up in my space, body limbs constantly trying to play footsie with me, and you know I’m cool with it, obviously, but is he going to be cool with it? I mean, what if he thinks you want to do more than sleep with him?” Em says, and this realization is worse than sleep farting.
“Which is exactly why I cannot wear this,” I say, refocusing on the reason we’re here in the first place. “My nipples are showing.”
I walk up toward the mirror and meet Em there. She does a power pose, like she’s at the end of her own runway show before looking me up and down.
“You look hot. Now tell me, washejust as hot as you remember?”
His face flashes in my mind. The curls that can’t be tamed. The newly acquired half-moon shaped scar underneath the bottom left corner of his lip.
