“Good point,” I say, doubling down on the line I blurted out in our interview. He doesn’t have to know I’m squirming on the inside.
Fuck. This is going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After we’re checked in, a young man in a white lab coat, who I’m guessing is one of the lowly research assistants, is tasked with taking civilians to their sleep room and answering boring questions like “Where’s the bathroom?” (down the hall to the left) and “What’s the internet password?” (Sleepfine509, which is actually catchy).
He’s got a messy mop of hair, thick glasses, a name tag that reads Ben, and he’s wearing a buttoned-up cardigan underneath his coat that puts him firmly in the adorable geek category. Ah, to be at college again when being cash poor didn’t matter because you felt like you’d won the lottery thanks to passion alone, and getting an unpaid internship was something you wanted. I remember those days well. I smile at him.Don’t give up on your dreams.
He blushes as he opens the door to our sleep room. It’s nice. Wow. I didn’t expect that.
Compared to the rest of the building full of stark white walls and silence, it’s cozy. The walls are a soft cream so as not to glowin the dark while we sleep. The bedspread is blue. There’s a chair in the corner of the room. And we have a TV. It’s like a midrange Airbnb except the room also has a trolley filled with wires, monitors at the head of the bed, cameras in all corners, and an intercom for communicating. There’s a control room right next to ours, but there’s noCriminal Minds-style one-way mirror with people in white coats on the other side watching us sleep under a dim light—at least I hope there isn’t.
Ben tells us it’s standard practice to record all sleep study sessions and the analysis happens over the following days. Then he instructs us to get ready for bed the same way we get ready at home.
That’s when it dawns on me. I need to get undressed. To change into my sleepwear. In front of Xander. With zero privacy. Because the damn bathroom is down the hall on the left.
Ben leaves, reminding us to be in our pajamas and ready. He’ll return after settling in the other patients.
How the fuck is this going to work?
I move around to my side of the bed and throw my overnight bag at my feet. The wine bottle clangs. Xander tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed, questioning the noise.
“They said to do whatever it is we do before going to sleep,” I say, shrugging. I wonder if he’s going to judge me for the empty calories like any dude on the Bone It app would. I mean, he clearly works out. The jury’s out on whether he owns a fedora. “Don’t worry, you can’t catch calories by being in proximity. Your macros are safe with me.”
“Oh, great. I was worried,” he says, laughing. “About themacros.”
My eyes widen. I haven’t heard that sound in eleven years and warmth spreads from the pit of despair in my stomachthroughout my entire body. It’s a nice laugh. Deep, genuine. A little husky.
Xander starts busying himself with his overnight bag. It’s one of those nice canvas ones with a leather handle. Mine is the free bag Em got with her gym membership. Before I can answer, he looks up, holding his sleepwear in his hands. I’m still searching for mine. We’re frozen.
We’re each waiting for the other to make the first move, like we’re in a Western movie. Instead of staring down imminent death, it’s the awkward dance of trying to get changed without the other person seeing your private bits.
Xander starts to turn to face the wall and I quickly do the same, snatching the sleepwear out of my bag. I guess I’m changing now.
I rip off my tank top and bra, but my hair gets caught in the clasp and I can’t untangle it. Never in my entire life of having to remove my bra has my hair gotten caught in the clasp. Am I having a stroke? I ignore that it might just be the Xander effect because in the matter of seconds since I started stripping, I’m sweating. This does not help me in releasing the clasp from my hair that shall now be referred to as “the bird’s nest.” Growing more desperate by the second, I bail on the bra for a moment, boobs out, and start peeling off my skinny jeans and underwear, forgetting that I haven’t kicked my sneakers off. I try to use my right foot to jimmy my left foot out without having to bend over and untie the laces, but it doesn’t work. Damn high tops.
So this is how I die. By humiliation.
I can hear the final piece of clothing being put on across the room. How do I know what a final piece of clothing sounds like? The silence is a dead giveaway. I frantically bend down and start undoing the shoelaces.
“You done?” I say into the silence coming from the other side of the room.
“Yep,” Xander says.
I manage to get one shoe off and I’m working on the other. My jeans are down to my ankles.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Xander says to my back.
I spring up and turn, the hunter becoming the hunted. We stare at each other eye to eye. My boobs are hanging out. Just swinging in the wind. My jeans and underwear are around my ankles. One hand springs up to cover as much boob as possible. The other attempts to cover my vagina area.
“What the fuck?” I say, finally releasing my second shoe.
Xander turns around, lightning quick. “I’m sorry. I thought you were done.”
“I was asking ifyouwere done, not sayingIwas done,” I hiss, finally feeling sweet freedom as my skinny jeans come off. I pull on the flannel pajama set, but I can’t get the bra free from the bird’s nest.
I consider for a moment playing this off like it’s a new fashion trend. I bet I could sleep with it just hanging in my hair, channeling my trashy university days. He probably wouldn’t notice.
