I step out of the shower and follow his directions to locate all the hygiene products I’ll need. Rummaging through a cabinet, I find a bottle of expensive moisturizer and slather it across my face. At least he has good taste. In the mirror, I check to make sure every inch of me is covered as I rewrap my towel and prepare to go back out there, not knowing what I’ll find. My eyes catch on the drawer. The one I discovered the first time I visited this place. Immediately, all the sweet and soft moments that had accumulated throughout the last couple of days together explode on impact. His souvenir drawer. It gnaws at me still. Why does he have it? Why do I care?
As I wring out my hair one more time over the sink, I try to convince myself this drawer is proof that Decker is no different from any other guy. That he’s as bad as Callum, a cheater. Something wedges itself into that notion, placing distance between the two of them. The guilt follows. For a moment, I feel almost shameful for comparing them. The past few days, Decker has been nothing but sweet to me. Even at our highest peaks, the terrain that made up my relationship with Callum was bumpy to say the least. I made excuse after excuse for him, always tryingto see the good. Always hanging onto thosesweetmoments. Moments that I later realized were more autocratic and self-serving than they were meant to serve me or our relationship.
I scrape my long hair into a messy, wet bun and knot it around itself on top of my head. Of course, Decker’s turning on the charm. We have a deal. If we don’t last until our teams tell us we need to, he won’t reap any benefits. If I weren’t a business arrangement, I’d just be another high five in the locker room, an earring in that drawer.
Though, if it weren’t for the agreement we made, I’d never date him to begin with. My jewelry would never be cast off in here for him to sift through as he recollects his conquests. A little fire lights inside me, a different heat spreading within as I stew over this dumb collection of junk. I wonder if he laughs about it with his friends. Smells the crap in there when he’s bored. A mix of disgust and fury builds inside until I’m marching out of the bathroom, no longer caring about my state of dress. When I fling the door open, the words about drawers and conquests are erupting out of my mouth before I can even form a rational argument. No matter. I’m ready for a fight. I’m ready to put him in his place.
Decker is perched on the edge of his king-size bed, a fan on his bedside table already blowing full blast toward his pillow. He stares at his phone, oblivious to the fact that I’ve entered the room, that my lips are moving. The fan is drowning me out. As my feet pound toward him, he finally looks up and stands. Only then does it register that the sole thing he’s wearing is a pair of gray sweatpants. He's completely shirtless. I have to pry my shocked eyes from his bare chest, which only makes me angrier with him. How dare he distract me from the earful I decided to give him like five seconds ago? Princess perks up, tilting her head as I open my mouth, but Decker speaks first, his unblinking eyes focused on my face.
“Do you need clothes?” he asks quietly.
“I sleep naked,” I whisper back.
“Oh.” He swallows hard, his unflinching gaze still locked somewhere on my face.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I need clothes, Decker. I’m not sleeping nakedwith you.Especially with Joss in the room, you perv.”
His face twists, his voice rising to a ridiculous whisper-yell. “Perv? I’m trying to help you. I’m offering you clothes.”
“You’re the one waiting for me like that!”
“Like what?”
I allow my eyes to slip down his body again as I squeeze my towel tighter to my chest. “Like that! Half-naked!”
“This is what I sleep in. It’s time for bed. I can put a shirt on.” He crosses to his dresser, pulling out two t-shirts and a pair of shorts. A Kings blue shirt and baggy black shorts land next to Princess. Yanking a shirt on, he heads toward the bathroom. “Whatever. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”
I peer over at Joss, who hasn’t moved an inch, then to the open bathroom door. When it clicks shut behind him, I drop my towel and pull on the clothes Decker’s laid out for me like I’m in a race. I rewrap my wet hair into a bun, and then I’m back on my warpath, busting into the bathroom without knocking. A startled Decker stares back at me, his toothbrush halfway to his mouth.
“Why do you have this?” I ask, pointing to the drawer.
Slowly, he begins to brush his teeth, staring at me like I’ve sprouted three extra boobs or something. “What are you talking about? Have what?”
I roll my eyes and yank it open. “This! Why do you have a drawer of other people’s stuff?”
I don’t specify that these things clearly belong to women because I don’t want to sound jealous. And then it hits me. Is that why I’m doing this? Is it truly because I’m repulsed by his former antics, or is it because I can’t stand the thought of himbeing with someone else? It’s not like I haven’t been with other guys; that’s the entire reason I’m here right now. Because I dated someone else and it ended in a literal fiery crash. More than the thought of him having other girls over, I think what bothers me the most is the possibility of finding out he isn’t the person he’s shown himself to be over our time together. The thought is enough to make me want to keep him at arm's length.
He smiles, his toothbrush dangling out of the side of his mouth. “You know, my mom said you would keep me on my toes.”
He already talked to his mom about me?
I double down. “Answer the question. Why do you keep this stuff?”
He sets his toothbrush on the counter and spits in the sink, taking his time to rinse it down the drain. The peppermint scent knocks me over as he turns to face me, pressing the heels of his hands into the countertop and leaning back. “I didn’t know what to do with it, so I threw it in a drawer. What if there’s like an heirloom in there or something?”
“Then they should have cared about it enough not to leave it here.” I snort. “Are you seriously making excuses right now? What if one of your buddies saw? No self-respecting woman would stay with a guy who hoards his exes’ stuff.”
“They aren’t my exes.” He runs a hand down the back of his neck, breaking eye contact. “I threw it in there because I can’t remember who any of it belongs to.”
Gross. “Then why keep it at all?”
He shrugs, eyes still locked on the hodgepodge below. “I don’t mean to keep it, I just don’t think about it. I can throw it all out right now if you want me to.”
“Don’t do that for me.” This doesn’t involve me. His past is not mine. His future isn’t either.
“I want to. They're just reminders of a life I don’t want anymore.” His green eyes lift to meet mine and my resolve breaks like glass in the hands of someone careless. How can I so easily fall for what he’s saying? Am I that much of a sucker for those thick lashes and soft eyes? The answer is yes because when he yanks the drawer from the cabinet and casually dumps it into his trash can like it’s dinner scraps, I melt a little. He doesn’t bother putting it back in place, just sets it on the marble counter. “I want you to tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Lena. Fake or not, you deserve to be respected.” His jaw stiffens. “After meeting Callum, I have a feeling that’s not something you got from him.”
I let out a little laugh. “I guess I’m lucky he cheated on me and dumped me then.”
