It’s telling me to invite him in, but my brain is telling me it’s a bad idea.
But he needs a shower too.
Hovering my hand over the doorknob, I yank it open to find him sitting on the floor, with his bare back leaning against the door. Quickly, he stands to face me.
"Uh, I was just wanting to see if you wanted to, um, join me in the shower? To save water." It was the first excuse I could come up with, and I want to kick myself.
Looking away, I’m suddenly nervous, feeling his eyes burning into every part of my body, drinking in every inch like I do his.
Resting his arm on the doorframe, he dips his head so his lips are at my ear, lifting my chin with his finger before he whispers, "When we shower together, we’re both going to be completely sober. It’s going to be after I’ve fucked you, then tasted you, then fucked you again. But tonight is not that night. Goodnight, Herring," he says, before kissing me on the cheek and heading to his bedroom.
What?
***
To say my mind is foggy this morning would be the understatement of the year.
I check my phone for the time; we need to check out of the apartment in an hour to catch our flight.
Sliding my feet into my slippers one by one, I throw my still damp hair into a bun on top of my head and make my way out to the kitchen, where Bea and Harley are seated, drinking a coffee in silence.
"There’s some on the bench for you," Bea says, sensing my desire for some.
"Thank you." I smile weakly as I head toward the kitchen to pour myself a fresh cup. I barely have a voice left. It hurts to speak.
I briefly remember screaming my lungs out to'Say My Name'while knocking back shots of tequila.
I guess the song spoke to me.
"Nice shirt." She cocks a brow as she holds her coffee mug to her lips to cover her smirk.
I’ve never seen this shirt in my life, and definitely have zero recollection of putting it on before bed. But the black t-shirt has W. E embroidered over my left breast, telling me who the shirt belongs to.
It sits just above my knees, the scent of sandalwood and vanilla overriding my senses.
"Oh God, did we—"
"No. I left it on your bed while you were in the shower because you said you forgot your pajamas," he says casually before taking another sip of his coffee.
"Thank God."
I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I do before I can stop myself. Harley’s face flashes with an unmissable look of confusion and hurt, while Bea’s eyes widen as they wander between us.
"Trust me,Cassandra," he says as he clears his throat. "If we had sex, you would remember it."
He called me by my first name.
He’s pissed.
I can hear it in his voice and see it in the way he stalks toward the sink to pour out his cup. But I don’t reply.
I don’t trust myself to say something that I won’t regret, even though I know it’s already too late for that.
I’m too mortified with every single event that took place last night, so I zip my lips together and throw away the damn key.
***
The journey back to Grangewood Creek was… quiet.
