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“I don’t need a knife, but I do need to change. This dress is disgusting and ripped.” She pulls the backpack from her shoulder. “I brought my other outfit.”
My eyes flick to the tan bag, remembering how she looked in the coffee shop. The turtleneck, the jeans. “Do you want something else to wear?” Her eyes widen at that, and I quickly clear my throat. “You don’t have to. I just meant if you wanted something more comfortable.”
“You just keep women’s clothes on hand for–” Ellis lingers on the last word, waiting for me to finish the thought as she tucks a black strand of hair behind her ear.
“I meant one of my T-shirts.” She nods again, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Maybe a pair of basketball shorts or something. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable is all, and I don’t have many women over.”
I start fumbling over my words. “Not that I have never had women over. I’m not weird.”
Ellis snorts, considering my offer as her eyes fix to the black leather couch in the living room. When her gaze finally meets mine, I settle a bit at her expression.
“That would be nice,” she says.
I turn to walk down the hall, muttering that I’ll be back before leaving her in my living room and hoping she will still be there when I emerge. I dig through the closet in my guest bedroom, finding two T-shirts, and some athletic shorts.
Ellis is standing by the end table near the couch, running a finger along the frame of an old photograph of my family. I had to have been about thirteen in the picture. My parents, my sister Skylar, my brother–we’re all there, smiling.
Ellis startles when she notices me looming behind her, and I really hope she isn’t re-evaluating my serial killer status. She quickly hides her hands behind her back as if I caught her doing something wrong.
“Sorry,” she says. “I was just looking. Trying to make sure you still aren’t Ted Bundy.”
I laugh, handing her the clothes and giving her directions to the bathroom before disappearing to change out of my suit.
My button-down has mud streaked across the chest, and my pants are covered in dirt and sweat. I wince as I peel the clothes off my body in the guest bedroom, throwing them in a hamper and replacing them with a T-shirt and basketball shorts. I throw a gray hoodie over my head and quickly push up the sleeves before returning to the hallway.
My mind is a swirl of everything that’s happened in the past eight hours. The coffee shop, pretending to be married, and making up outrageous lies about who we were. All of those memories settle in, making their way into the box markedthe most funin the back of my mind. When I accepted the freelance job from some girl who spilled her coffee on her head, I couldn’t have known this is how it would go.
Now that we are away from the wedding, it’s a little harder to know what’s expected of me. It certainly has nothing to do with Noah’s eggplant emoji.
The nerves swirl in my gut, reminding me she’s no longer hanging out withStuart. She’s about to hang out with Griffin, and I really want her to fucking like that.
I stand outside the bathroom door, knuckles raised, but before I can knock, Ellis is standing there with a shirt halfway down her thighs, and basketball shorts to her knees. Her hands clasp the sides of them when she looks up at me and steps back, startled. “Oh, hey.”
I put my hands up in defense. “I was just about to knock, I swear.”
She tilts her head to the side, humor dancing in her gaze. “You don’t make a habit of lingering outside of bathrooms and waiting for women to emerge with your clothes on?”
I chuckle, my face warming with embarrassment. “No.”
Ellis offers me a wide smile, white teeth flashing before looking down at her outfit. “The shorts are big,” she says. “We should find somewhere to sit down so they don’t fall off.” Her eyes lift infinitesimally, lingering on my thigh just beneath my shorts. “Nice tattoos.” I watch her eyes flick to the ones on my arms, the patchwork of different stories I’ve tried to document–memories. Some good and some–memorable.
“Thanks.” I look down the hallway toward my room. “Well, our song isn’t going to write itself.” I turn on my heel, socks shuffling on the carpet as I lead her to the giant walk-in closet that sold this entire apartment to me.
I flick on the dim lamp in the corner next to a beanbag, and gesture for her to sit there. Unfortunately, since this is a literal closet, I don’t have space for proper seating–something I hadn’t worried about until right this second.
I walk over to the stool in front of my makeshift desk decorated with a computer screen, outboard gear, nearfield monitors, a random granola bar wrapper.
Quickly grabbing the trash and throwing it in the bin behind my setup, I sit down, spinning in my chair until I see Ellis sprawled on top of the bean bag, her eyes closed as she tips her head back, and I’m suddenly aware of two things. One, it’s very late, and two, there’s a beautiful woman sitting in my closet wearing my clothes. My entire body blazes like the sun and my cheeks are red. I just fucking know it.
When I turn around to face my keyboard, I flick it on, hearing Ellis’s voice from the corner.
“I can’t believe we just met, and I get to hear you play. Usually, people pretend it’s some giant secret–like exposing the deepest parts of them. Very dramatic stuff. Very intimate.”
Please don’t say that.
“It’s not intimate.” I tap a few keys, glancing at the bass traps decorating the walls. “I like playing for people.”
“Okay, so play me something.”
