It takes me two steps from the closet to the French doors. Then another step to drop to one knee and roll against the bed when she comes racing back into the room, Fidget barking in surprise from where she’s begging for her treat in front of the bed.
“Ha! Got you.” Winnie throws open the closet door. “Huh. Empty…”
If she walks back toward the French doors and around the couch, she will see me. I’m on the fluffy rug by the bed.
She has so much shit under her bed I can’t squeeze under there.
“Weird.” She runs her hand through the clothes in the closet.
“My family is making me crazy. That’s it,” she decides.
Outside, the car horn blares.
“Well, be good, Fidget.”
I hold my breath, listening to Winnie head down the stairs, then crawl over to the window to watch the headlights finally, finally leave.
“Fuck!” Laughing, I collapse on the bed, turn my face into her pillow, breathe in the smell of her. I’m half hard with the thrill of almost being caught, of getting away with it.
What would she do if she had seen me? Would she run? Would she scream? Or would she give me that scared, wide-eyed, excited look as I tangled my fingers in her hair, kissed her, shoved her to her knees, and dragged her to mess up that pristine white bedspread?
I’m not jerking off on her bed, but I might on this dress later.
Not ready to leave her space yet, I thumb my phone, reading the message that almost got me caught.
Orcas GM:The NHL approved the trade request.
Orcas GM:Trade is in the works.
Orcas GM:Knox Yandle star forward from Minneapolis is coming to Seattle.
11
WINNIE
Idrum my fingernails—the manicure from the Billionaire’s Ball is miraculously still holding up—on the highlighted and sticky-tabbed stack of books: Dating for the Modern Girl,So You Think You Can Date, and the ever-popularHave Money Will Date. “Where is she?”
“You should have driven her over here this morning,” Carolina reminds me.
“Kathy needed a mental health day. She said dealing with the customers was triggering.”
“Uh, I mean, every day is mental health day in retail.”
“She only worked like one and a half shifts.”
“She is hashtag blessed that she has you as a sister, because she truly would not survive in this capitalist wilderness we live in,” Carolina continues, rolling silverware.
I check my phone. No response to the twenty increasingly panicked text messages I sent Kathy.
This is exactly what would happen when we were kids. She’d whine and beg and need my help, and it would turn into me literally doing the project for her.
“Just cancel her date.”
“I can’t. What if she shows at the last minute?” I show my friend the dating profile. “Clive says he’s on his way.”
My friend snatches the phone. “I’m sorry, did you send him a titty picture?” Carolina scrolls through the phone.
“That’s not a titty pic.” I snatch the phone back from her. “Just a little teaser. That’s about the same as a guy would see if I wore a V-neck sweater. I had to,” I protest to her raised eyebrow. “He seemed like he was losing interest. And as we see with her lack of effort at the ball, I’m not all that confident that Kathy can hack it as an escort. With any luck, she’ll fall in love with this guy and live happily ever after with him and my parents far away.”
