“How far is his room?”
“A few doors down. Not far.”
“Okay. Fine.” I’m stalling because the idea of stripping suddenly makes me super self-conscious. “You just want to see me naked.”
It was fun stripping down before, when I was protected from judging eyes. The air is heavy with awkward tension. I lift my head and sniff.
“You got me.” He does sarcastic eyebrows. “I love being around beautiful naked women I can’t touch.”
The fact that he calls me beautiful so casually, like it’s a fact known to all, makes my whole face burn. I show him my back and pretend to search the room.
“Hurry,” he groans.
“Fine, okay. Get me there quick. And make sure there’s a closet or a bathroom I can get in and out of easily.”
“I’ll make sure. If not, I’ll make an excuse and take you back.”
“Okay, uh, close your eyes.” I take my time loosening the tie on my robe.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Let’s pretend you haven’t seen me naked a bunch of times already. I’m at a severe disadvantage here.”
He makes a show of covering his eyes with his hands.
“Okay. In a minute, walk out slowly and then close the door.”
He grunts an acknowledgment. I strip down and steady my nerves. His shoulder’s hard and warm under my hand.
“I’ll follow close behind you,” I say quickly. “Don’t want to bump into anybody.” And I don’t want him to see all my jiggly bits walking around.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
“You’re awfully testy for someone who gets to keep their clothes on.”
He sighs as I go Under. We make our way down the hall, passing several people as we go. None of them see me, obviously, but they wave to Roe.
“This is so fucking weird. I keep expecting them to say something about the naked woman behind me,” he whispers through the side of his mouth.
“That’s how it should work,” I say, even though he can’t understand me.
So I poke his butt. I don’t know why. Maybe being invisible makes me cheeky. Pun intended. He stumbles.
“Hey, none of that. Not fair. And no talking. Whatever you said I’m sure it was sarcastic.”
I goose him again and this time he jumps right as someone passes. The person sends him a backward glance and I laugh to myself. Thankfully, the master suite isn’t terribly far. He knocks and I take a deep, steadying breath.
“Come in,” Marty Zebulund calls out.
The door opens on a massive living area with rich dark wood paneling and retro furniture. The majority of the space is taken up by a poker table the size of a small pool with fancy cutouts and printed felt. Smoke lingers in the soft light, collecting along the low ceiling, and AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” blasts from unseen speakers. Oh, how apropos.
A few doors open off the main room, probably a bedroom and bathroom, and a kitchen sits to the left side. I let out a sigh of relief and point so Roe can see what I see. The layout leading to the kitchen is wide open and right next to the poker table but has a bar countertop that I can duck behind and come Up for air if I need to. He very subtly dips his chin to show that he understands.
“Roe. You made it,” Zebulund calls to him around a cigar. “Grab a drink and join us.”
I follow Roe closely, keeping my hands on his waist, so when he stops suddenly I slam into his back, essentially wrapping him in a hug. He’s solid muscle so my impact doesn’t even register. He reaches back to steady me and then thinks better of it and stretches to cover.
“Thanks.” He nods to the table. “Hey.”
