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“What the fuck, Gideon?” Mitch motions toward me, then flaps a hand at Gideon, before pressing a hand to his chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“No, don’t have a heart attack,” I say, the words breaking through my frozen-in-fear response. “Sit down and take slow, deep breaths. Gideon, get him a glass of water. I’m going to put on pants. I’ll be right back, and we’ll talk this out calmly and rationally.”
I dash into the bedroom, cursing myself when I arrive beside the rumpled bed, and remember all I have to wear is the boob dress. Deciding Gideon won’t mind if I borrow something, I drag open drawers until I find a pair of khaki shorts. I pull them on, secure them with a belt from his closet, and pop into the bathroom to smooth my hands through my hair.
But there’s nothing to be done with the wild curls floating around my shoulders, declaring to the entire world that I was fucked hard last night. I don’t even have a hair tie in my purse. Clearly, I need to improve my “staying over at a man’s house” preparations.
Only, I don’t want to stay over at any other man’s house and Gideon was already pushing me away, even before he realized that he used to work for my dad and is apparently good friends with Uncle Mitch.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, pacing back and forth in front of the mirror. I need advice, but it’s way too early for Noelle to be awake after a party night, and no one else knows about Gideon.
Well, no one around here anyway…
Gambling that Elaina will be having a slow morning at the café, I grab my cell from the bedside table and call her, continuing to pace the soft carpet beside the bed as the phone rings, hoping Gideon and Mitch aren’t coming to blows in the other room.
Everything sounds pretty quiet out there right now, but I know Mitch. He has a big temper, and I’m sure it’ll make an appearance as soon as he’s over the initial shock.
Thankfully, Elaina answers on the second ring with a cheery, “Sydney! What’s up, woman? When are you coming in October? I want to plan a book club rager. I’m going to make a signature drink and make a spooky playlist and everything. I figure, if you can’t beat the spooky weirdos, join ‘em, right?”
“Listen, I can only talk for a second, but I’m in trouble,” I whisper, quickly filling Elaina in on the situation, before hissing, “What do I do?”
“Shit,” she whispers back. “I have no idea. I’ve never dated my uncle’s best friend.”
“He’s not really my uncle,” I remind her.
“Right, but that’s not the point, is it?” She hums softly, her thinking hum.
I cross my fingers and pace faster, praying she’ll come up with something. Because honestly, right now? I have nothing. Nothing but anxiety and the strong urge to climb out a window and flee down a fire escape.
“Okay, this is what you should do,” she finally says, proceeding to outline a plan of action so outrageous, it just might work. “BDE? Got it?”
I exhale. “Um, yeah, but am I that girl? The girl with Big Dong Energy? I don’t know if I am.”
“You’re the girl who went home with the one who got away last night, woman,” she says. “Because he couldn’t stay away from your sexy, boss bitch self. You are a powerhouse of sexy, a brilliant business mind, and your hair always smells amazing, even when you’ve been out in a bog counting butterflies all day.”
“Thank you, my shampoo is really great,” I say, my chest filling with warmth. “So are you. I love and miss you so much.”
“Aw, I love and miss you, too,” she says. “So do the girls. Sea Breeze isn’t the same without our Syd. Good luck and call me as soon as you can to fill me in on what happens next. Oh, and don’t forget to let me know about October. Any weekend is fine. We’ll make it work. We know your schedule is a lot more hectic than ours.”
My stomach tightens, but now isn’t the time to tell her that I won’t be able to make that October book club meeting.
I’ll explain later, after I’ve put out my current, interpersonal fire and have hopefully made a plan to get up to Maine in November. Surely, the insanity at work will have slowed down a little by then.
I end the call, square my shoulders, and prepare to head back into the living room. At the last second, I slide into my borrowed stilettos and grab my purse and dress. I’m sure my borrowed t-shirt and khakis look ridiculous paired with high heels, but I feel at least ten times more powerful with shoes on.
Now, I can strut into the living room, and strutting is always better than tiptoeing into a confrontation on bare feet.
Or so I tell myself as I aim myself toward the door, doing my best to channel my inner badass.
nineteen
GIDEON
I fetch Mitch water, but when I set the glass in front of him on the coffee table, he only grunts and shakes his bowed head.
He doesn’t even look at me.
“It isn’t what you think,” I say, though I’m actually not sure what Mitch is thinking.
