Oh my god.
I twirl to look at myself in the mirror, not quite believing that I’m honestly considering giving Theo a taste of his own medicine by walking out of this door completely naked, but I still can’t see myself.
Too much steam in the already humid room.
But seriously.
Whycan’tI walk out of here naked?
Whyshouldn’tI own the skin I was born in?
This is what I’ve been trying to tell myself for a year now, isn’t it?Your body isn’t bad. Skin isn’t shameful. Casual sex won’t ruin your life. You get to live.
And here I am, cowering in the bathroom instead of freakingowning itin front of my biggest nemesis.
I’m talking myself into giving a big ol’fuck itand walking out of this bathroom naked just to prove that I can when I hear the bungalow door close.
Theo’s either coming or going.
Neither’s good.
I hastily wrap myself in a towel, wrench the bathroom door open, and peek out into the suite.
No Theo.
No Theo in the living room.
No Theo in the bedroom.
The second bedroom, though, the one with the closed door and the cat noises—that one has a very clear sign posted on it.
This room is being used for something that it’s best you don’t know about, and yes, it involves nudity and pornographic noises. If you open this door, a security camera will notify me, and photographic evidence that you’re carrying my secret love child will be sent to your parents.
I gape.
And gape some more.
He’s screwing with me.
He has to be screwing with me.
I put my hand on the doorknob. This is stupid. I’m finding out what’s in there once and for all, and then I’ll deal with it.
Right?
Right?
Crap.
Do I really want to know if he’s making porn?
Crapagain.
While I’m gaping, Theo’s wandering out there somewhere in the resort, possibly dressed, possibly not, and I can’t be a buffer between him and Chandler if I don’t know where he is.
Which means I need to get dressed and deal with this room later.
I turn away from the door, and three softmews carry from behind it.
