Page 85 of A Really Bad Idea

“No. Unless you have surgery in the morning, then I know how you feel about sleeping out, but, if you want, you can just stay here. If you don’t, I’m gonna feel like a one-night stand, and if I’m being totally honest, I really don’t want to feel so … dirty.”

“Dirty?”

“Yes. I mean, we’ve always been able to just hang, so maybe you can stay for a few. Plus, you didn’t get to eat your lasagna. I have a half-bottle of Johnnie and a full tub of cookie dough ice cream. We could watch some baseball, or we can look through our high school yearbook and make fun of how ridiculous we looked. Anything really. Why are you looking at me like that? Say something.”

I watch as his head rises and falls ever so slowly.

A small smirk builds on those thick, kissable lips. “Meadow?”

“Yes?” I bite my lip.

“All you had to do was tell me to stay.”

“You don’t have to just because I asked. Don’t feel obligated.”

He puts a finger over my lips. “I got off a plane and came straight here. You’re all I’ve thought about for five days straight. Of course I want to hang out with you. You promised me lasagna. Besides, you said you feel dirty, and I have a great way to remedy that.”

I curve my brows, my lips not moving because they’re still being shushed by his fingers. With his other hand, he undoes the buttons of his shirt.

“Take a bath with me,” he says.

I curve a brow and feel that rumbling in my gut whoosh in a rush of energy, zinging straight to my core.

If I thought I felt tawdry before, I am downright turning into a vixen, and I only have the doctor to blame.

“Four stars!” Dylan cheers as he moves his arms to the beat of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.”

“How are you so good at this?” I huff.

“I got swagger.” Dylan drops to the floor, mimicking the avatar on the Just Dance game we’re playing in their basement. He’s still grounded from video games, but I convinced Beth to let him play since his favorite aunt is here.

Aiden is trying to keep up with the rapid arm movements. “Drop it like it’s hot, Aunt Meadow.”

I do a tiger crawl on the carpet and wait as the music fades. The screen illuminates with the scores. Dylan wins with Aiden and me trailing far behind.

“Rematch?” Dylan asks, but I put my controller down.

“Seven dances was enough for me. Unless you have the ’90s boy band edition. In which case, I would school you two with some fly moves.”

They look at me like I’m crazy as I do my best moves, including the NSYNC No Strings Attached puppetry dance and morph it into the Backstreet Boys’ zombie sway. I might not have been asked on a date until I was seventeen, but I certainly knew how to party. And by party, I mean, watch MTV in my basement and sing into my hairbrush.

“You’re so old,” Dylan deadpans.

“I might have nightmares when I go to bed tonight,” Aiden adds.

With a drop of my shoulders, I tilt my head and surrender. “I lost my cool.”

Dylan steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Aunt Meadow. You still have a little cool left.”

I take the compliment from my nephew and pat his hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have to go play with grown-ups before they yell at me for hiding.”

When I arrived for Sunday family day at Beth and Brian’s house, I conversed with the adults for a while before going down to the basement to hang with my nephews. My parents were on their iPads, playing Scrabble against one another, so I took the opportunity to hide—I mean, play.

I head upstairs and make a quick detour to the powder room where Beth always keeps the pomegranate-scented soap because it matches the hand towels. She’s added some new artwork—framed stills from her and Brian’s trip to Corona last year. I wonder if anyone else finds it weird to have Brian staring at you while you pee. It’s as if his eyes move with you as you shift around the room. I take a hand towel and put it over the picture.

When I went to see Dr. Abbot a few weeks ago, I had to provide him with information on my cycle. Since then, I’ve been trying not to track it because that’s what Christian and I agreed upon. Still, I’ve quite known of when I’m ovulating, which is why I’m surprised to see I have my period.

“Damn it.”