Page 162
By the time I reach Don’s doorstep, I’m sweating through my shirt and breathing like a marathon runner. Don opens the door already dressed for somewhere else: too-tight shorts, mesh shirt, hair arranged as if meticulously windblown.
“Oh,” he says. “That’s a lot of perspiration.”
“I need to—”
What do I need to do right now? Tell him everything or just the most recent? The total emotional fraud part or the creepy stalker thing too?
Just say one true thing.
“I needed air.”
“Well, you’re huffing quite a bit of it now. What’s up, babe?”
“I just...” Just tell him. “Just went for a walk along the beach.”
That part is true. After spying Clint at the strip bar and pretending to shop for pornographic clothing, I did go to the beach. It felt safer than home. Nothing about home feels safe with me in it. Not when I can’t get Clint into the right side of my brain.
Don studies me. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“You’re always weirdly normal. This weirdness is something new.” He steps back. “Come in.”
The living room smells like cologne and hair product. A pair of sandals waits by the door. Music plays from his phone on the counter.
“You’re going out?” I ask.
“I ran into Alby and Brad at Blue Chairs while I was checking out some hot Canadian boys on the beach. They’re having their start-of-season rooftop party.” He throws me an arched eyebrow. “I texted you.”
I pat my pocket for my phone. “I didn’t hear it.”
“You were busy being weird.”
“I don’t really like Alby and Brad.”
He laughs. “No one likes Alby and Brad. We like their view and their snacks.”
I should go home, stare at my mostly blank canvas, and become less weird.
“Maybe I’ll come.”
Don smiles. “Good. But you’re cleaning up first. I can’t walk in with you looking like you’ve been herding goats all afternoon.”
The elevator is mostly mirror, which feels excessive. Don turns once, assessing himself from three angles.
“Acceptable?”
“You look good.”
“I know. I was hoping you’d say ten years younger, but I’ll take it.”
I nod at his mesh shirt. “You look like expensive fishing net.”
“Thank you.” He glances at me, then squints. “You clean up well in a panic.”
“I changed shirts.” I run a hand down my front. “And I wasn’t panicked.”
“And yet.”
