“Thanks for letting me crash here.” I sort of lift my voice at the end. This whole situation is weird, weirder than normal, but I keep my face neutral.
“Not a problem. Roe brought you.” She glances to him and back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed out of it last night.”
I nod and inhale the coffee I cling to. I don’t actually remember about last night, post-faint.
There’s a giant rock on her ring finger and small signs of male life around the place: a few sets of large shoes near the door, an LA Kings coffee mug, and an unmistakable masculine smell of aftershave. Could the tension I’m picking up be from the fact they’re a couple on the down-low? Everybody in Hollywood is dying to know who he’s hooking up with.
And yet, they’re formal with each other. He stands stiffly on the other side of the island, disheveled and exhausted looking. And he’s still dressed in last night’s clothes. If he’s living here, or even staying here, he’d have likely changed.
“Is your fiancé still asleep?” I venture.
With a shake of her head she says, “He’s at his morning practice. I’m about to go meet him.”
“Practice? It’s early.”
“He’s a hockey player. They have a game tonight.”
Roe watches this exchange with eyes that widen with every fact but he smoothly tries to cover it up.
“Very cool,” I say.
After drying her hands, Rachel collects her bag and slides her keys to Roe. “Stay as long as you like, just lock the deadbolt when you leave.”
“Will do. And thank you again…” He sort of trails off, but with his back to me, I can only assume he’s gesturing to me with his eyeballs.
“Seconded,” I add.
Before he can turn around, I busy myself with another mugful of coffee.
“Maggie May?”
Ah, nuts. It’s not like he wouldn’t have figured it out eventually.
“That’s me.”
“I wasn’t prying but after you collapsed I had to find some ID. You’re a reporter.”
“Guilty again.”
I recognize that it’s childish to be angry at Roe for being able to see me. I recognize it, but it doesn’t change the fact. He crosses his arms as a look of quiet disbelief fills his face.
“Have I offended you in some way? Because the way I see it, you’re a reporter who’s naked stalking me.”
“I’m not stalking.”
“You are.”
“I’m researching.”
“And the nudity?”
I set the mug down. “If I wear clothes, it defeats the being invisible thing.”
“Aha! So you admit it. You can disappear.” He pauses to run a hand over his face. “Your clothes don’t vanish with you?”
“I’m having déjà vu. Didn’t we already do this? But for the record, no they don’t.”
“Noted. And sorry if I’m having just a little trouble wrapping my mind around all this. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…” He trails off again.
