There’s no point in wandering around aimlessly in Isolde’s apartment anymore. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. I check the front lock out of habit as I pass the door. The untouched air of the first bedroom tells me it’s for guests.
Since I knew the job with Ren was done tonight, I’d already packed my bag.
I stop digging around in the duffel when a crash echoes from the bathroom. I cleared every inch of this place when I first got here, so unless Cade snuck up the drain pipes, I’m not worried about an attack.
I am, however, incredibly aware Isolde took a hit tonight.
Tyler might have checked her out, but she held herself funny all night. She’s forcing herself to act like everything’s okay, but I’m going to be really pissed if she drowns in the shower because she passed out.
“Isolde?” I call out. A faint, funny noise comes from the bathroom. I drop the T-shirt in my hand. I’m outside the bathroom door in two strides. “Isolde?”
I knock on the door a few more times. The noise is getting worse, the skin on the back of my neck pricking.
“Isolde, answer me or I’m opening the fucking door.”
I’m not about to tell Ren I accidentally let Isolde die in the shower of all places.
It takes nothing to push the door open, barging my way in.
Steam dampens my face, my reflection in the mirror hazy thanks to the fog. My attention doesn’t linger on the mirror, though. It immediately hones in on the clear, plastic shower curtain that does nothing to hide Isolde’s naked figure.
I will never admit this, but I’m not sure which one of us yelps—me or her.
“What the fuck?” she screeches. She’s hunched over, barely standing.
“What’s wrong?” Is she bleeding again? I take a step forward, eyeing the curves of her naked body.
“Fuck off!” she shouts, grabbing a towel despite the running water.
I slam the bathroom door shut behind me.
CHAPTER 4
Isolde
My alarm goes off at seven in the morning. It does so every day.
Sunlight blurs along the far wall, the shadows moving. The city is awake, but I continue to lie in bed.
Tristan Trevino saw me naked in the shower last night.
If this had been a porno, maybe everything would have worked out. He’d get naked, we’d fuck, and live happily ever after.
Only it’s not a porno. Which means I’m left with the horrible knowledge that a man I’ve crushed on for several years has now seen me naked.
The worst thing about my crush on Tristan? Everyone seems to know about it.
Lennie teases me openly. Ren smirked when she sent Trevino home with me last night. I don’t mean to stare at Tristan like a fucking puppy dog.
Men have never been my forte, but then again, neither are relationships in general. It wasn’t until I moved to New York that I felt like I really had friends. The kind where thebonds run deep. Not just the surface level, ‘we’re friends because we spend so much time together during our work shift.’
They listen to all the things I text about in the group chat.
But I decide, as I stare up at my ceiling, that I’ll take what happened last night to the grave. I’m not sure what the fuck he thought he was doing, barging in like that.
A deep, exhausted sigh rips from my chest despite just waking up. So much for feeling energized this morning.
You’re just going to have to get over it.
