You are an opossum. Be the opossum.
I know the moment that George fully wakes up because his lax body goes as stiff as his erection. When he doesn’t immediately launch out of the bed, scrambling to get away from me, it takes all my willpower to keep hold of my sleep ruse. Instead, George remains still for a full count of five—I know because I’m counting—then he slowly separates himself from me. First, he slides his hips back, so his morning wood isn’t poking my leg anymore. Then he unwraps his armsfrom my thighs and uses his freed limbs to lever his head off my abdomen.
And I can’t help the shiver that trembles through me at the loss of his heavy warmth.
Luckily, people can still shiver in their sleep. Check the science.
From the way the mattress shifts and then rises, I guess that George has slipped out of bed. Then a less-delicious warmth covers me, and I figure he must have pulled the blankets over me.
I keep up my opossum charade until I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, followed by the rush of water from the shower.
Then I pop up and suck in the deepest breath I’ve allowed myself this morning. After that, I grab a pillow, shove my face into it, and let out a sexually frustrated groan. Because damn it, I’m slick between my legs, and I can’t stop imagining if George had dipped his head lower rather than sneaking away when he woke up.
“I’m a fucking mess,” I mutter.
I decide to blame my father. Maybe I wouldn’t be panting after a guy who has zero interest in me if I had gotten some affection from the male figure in my life.
At least thoughts of Karl Newton kill my wayward libido.
I climb out of the bed and check my clothes on the heater.
Dry.
With more reluctance than I want to admit, I tug off George’s T-shirt, neatly fold it, and place it on the foot of the bed. I get dressed quickly and wait for my turn in the bathroom.
But George apparently really wanted to wash off because he’s taking a long time.
When another five minutes go by, a self-conscious thought creeps to the surface.
He’s not showering for so long because he slept pressed up against me, is he?
Frowning, I bend my head to sniff myself. Not spring roses by any means, and my teeth need a brush, but I don’t reek. Not that I can tell anyway.
But maybe George, who smells like rich-people cologne, caught a whiff of something I can’t.
Or maybe he’s just grossed out by me in general.
Whatever the reason, I’m starting to get agitated and uncomfortable. The length of his shower is one thing, but I also need to pee. More so every second that passes, and the sound of running water isn’t helping.
“Damn it.” I pull on my shoes and stomp out into the cool, sunny morning. “Please don’t be creepy,” I whisper as I approach the front office at a fast clip.
The motel gods must be smiling down on me because when I enter the office, the front desk worker isn’t Mr.Gross Dip Mouth but instead a bored-looking teenager with thick eyeliner and a septum piercing.
“Hi!” I wave and put on my friendliest smile. “I’m in room twelve, and my roommate is hogging the bathroom. Is there one in here I can use? Just for a quick pee.”
They don’t even look up from their phone as they point to the back corner, where I spy a door. “Sure. Whatever.”
Gotta love the total disinterest of the young.
After I’m done, feeling a thousand times better, I wave to the kid, who ignores me, and head back out into the cheery day.
And straight into a broad chest covered in a soft white shirt I already miss.
“Beth.” George grabs my upper arms, catching my gaze with his intense one. “You left.” His fingers flex where they grip me. “I didn’t know where you went.”
“Had to pee.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder and try to ignore how, despite the fact he probably used whatever cheap soap was available at this motel, he still smells like ecstasy. “You were hogging the bathroom.”
George releases me and steps back. His cheeks flush red, and he runs an agitated hand over his head. Did he think I’d taken the car and left? It’s not like I can abscond with the plane.
