Dammit.
Dammit.
Heat invades my eyes and my nose gets that telltale tickle that says tears are coming. “Shampoo,” I gasp. “Shampoo in my eye.”
It’s not.
But it’s a lot better than letting him see me cry.
Over sex.
Over being wanted.
Over knowing that he doesn’t truly want me.
That I’m merely what’s convenient today.
Yep.
Having him stumble into action to rinse my eyes out is way better than admitting how much I like him and how much it’s going to hurt when he gets wherever he’s going and sends me back home.
25
CHAOS IS THE BEST TEACHER
Oliver
After our shower,Daphne tells me she needs to get something from the front desk for her mission of helping me give away piles of cash.
As soon as she slips out of the door, I call Archie.
“Talk to me, Stevenson,” he says, throwing me for half a second before I realize he’s using a fake name so that no one knows it’s me.
He’s breathing like he’s on a treadmill, and I hear the steadythump thump thumpof his footsteps.
“You on an earbud?” I ask.
“Stupid question.”
Good. I can talk freely. “I either had a mental breakdown or I’ve left the stress behind.”
“Pick one. Can’t be both.”
“Don’t have a clue where I am, don’t care, might lose track of time and not find where I want to settle before my two weeks are up, again don’t care, having fun.”
“Shit. Itisboth.”
It’s also the sex.
I don’t know how sex with the most chaotic person I know is both grounding me and giving me wings, but there you have it.
“Snapped yesterday. Hit a thunderstorm, Daphne freaked out, thought for a minute we wouldn’t get out alive, she called me boring, and the next thing I knew, I was shutting off the GPS and driving wherever I felt like going.”
“Things are okay with your new assistant then?” he says.
That coded question is loaded with the subtext of at least a dozen other very direct questions. “Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a minute.
