Then somehow three.
Apparently, watching couples argue over backsplash tile is exactly the kind of drama my brain needs this morning.
By the end of the third episode, my face feels like concrete. I peel myself out of bed and head back into the bathroom. The shower practically calls my name.
I twist the handle, and the rainfall showerhead comes to life overhead, steam curling through the room.
Just as I reach for the buttons on Santiago’s flannel, my phone starts buzzing from the bedroom.
Dashing back toward the sound, I answer without looking at the screen. “What’s up, babe?”
I’m greeted by the voice of my best friend, Savannah Foster, whom I had to leave back in New York. “Just calling to see how it’s going.”
I respond as I make my way back toward the shower. “Good.”
“How is–Where are you? Are you in the shower?” Savannah asks.
“I’m about to be, but I’m at a guy’s house.” My response is vague, but that doesn’t deter her.
Her pause is loud. “Are you being held against your will or something? Cough once if you’re in danger, and twice if I need to ride in guns blazing.”
I chuckle in amusement. “What? No. I’m fine.”
“Then why are you still there?”
A valid question, but one that I’m actively trying to avoid.
“What do you mean?” I return, my tone as innocent as a fox in a henhouse.
Savannah scoffs. “Uh. Girl. Your creed is: hit it and quit it.”
“Hey!” I exclaim, affronted.
“I’m not slut-shaming,” she reassures me. “Nothing wrong with two adults consenting in a night of…pleasure. I know you don’t make promises you can’t keep. But…” she trails off.
“But?” I question with a raised brow.
I can feel her fidgeting through the phone, like she’s uncomfortable with the confrontation. “You’re usually gone by now. You don’t stick around for morning pleasantries, let alone a shower.”
“I woke up in bed alone, and he left a note telling me to make myself at home, so that’s what I’m doing,” I explain like my behavior is perfectly logical, which it is for any other human being on the planet.
But not me.
“By taking a shower?” Savannah questions further.
“Uh huh.”
“Are you by chance delaying your leave so you can see him again?” I can hear the gears turning in her head.
“No…” I answer.
Savannah gasps. “Oh, my God! Blake Jennings! Have you caught feelings?” Her screeches just about burst my eardrum. I pull the phone away from my ear, saving myself a trip to theER. “Who? Is it one of your dad’s friends? The ones you told me about?”
“No.” My response is too clipped, too fast. She instantly knows I’m lying and squeals.
“Which one? Tell me, please. I want all the details.” She talks so fast that her words become one long sound.
Not ready to confront the questions she’s asking, I do the only thing I can think of.
