Five—What the heck?What the actual heck?
There’s just no logical explanation. But as much as I need to figure things out, Ireallyhave to pee. No joke. And what a bathroom. It's absolutely gorgeous, decorated with a mixture of rich blacks, cool grays, and soft whites. There's a huge walk-in shower with a frosted glass door and way too manyshower heads, a toilet with a bidet beside it, and an inset garden tub.
Toilet, my bladder reminds me.
After I get sweet relief, I wash my hands in the large farmhouse-style sink. Everything is soclean,it almost looks brand new. Absentmindedly scratching my stomach, I study my appearance in the mirror. It doesn't look like I spent the night having wild sex. Being a virgin, shouldn't I remember it? Wouldn't I be sore?
And what in the world is on my lips? I lean closer. Did I drool on myself? I've never known drool to taste so salty. Gross. A quick scrub with a little bit of soap gets it off. I eye the sink again. Maybe I’ll take a fast rinse myself before I go back out there. But first...
Surely a bathroom this fancy has a toothbrush stashed away somewhere. I spot a brand new one by the cotton swabs and brush the filth from my tongue. My morning breath—or afternoon, according to Mr. Shay—is toxic enough to kill a dead animal. Yeah, an already dead one. Kill it twice. Bam.
I hope he doesn't mind me sneaking around in the drawers and cabinets, but I can't go back out therewith my hair in such a mess. Quietly opening a random drawer, I cringe when I find a pack of ponytails. And makeup. And tweezers. And abrand-newbottle of the same perfume I have. It's somewhat odd that we have the same taste. Does...does all of this belong to another woman? I'm not touching her tweezers, no matter how much these stupid chin hairs are driving me crazy. I'll just have to ignore them until I get back home.
Silently asking forgiveness from the unknown woman, I steal a ponytail and gather my hair into a knot. But this stupid itch on my belly demands attention again when I raise my arms, so this time I reach a hand under the material for direct contact.
It feels weird, so I withdraw my finger and see dried whitish stuff on it.Ew. Disgust is written all over my face as I meet my own scrunched glance in the mirror. Hesitantly, I bring my finger up to my nose for a quick sniff. Smells bleachy and musky. Surely it can’t be—my mouth drops open in shock. It’s—semen?I think?
Oh my God.But whose? Mr. Shay's? Someone else’s?
I haven't held onto my virginity for all these years only to give it up to some nameless man and apparently forget the entire event by the next afternoon. What is going on here?
My original plan for a spit bath won’t work. I’ve got to get clean.Now.But without a lock on the door...Surelyhe wouldn't barge in here while the door is still closed. I'll just have to take that chance.
Clothes—I don’t have any clothes.Doesn't matter. No way am I putting this contaminated shirt back on.Guess I’ll be wearing that robe so conveniently hung by the towel rack when I’m done.
Two fingers peel my clothes off and drop them onto the floor. The dry patches on my stomach make me shudder. Was the crusty stuff on mylipssemen, too? I gag, tasting the acidic bile creeping up my throat.
Shower. Get in the shower, Mercy.
Hot running water soothes all worries away in most cases, but not mine. Not today. I scour my lips and body, washing away all traces of whatever dried fluid was on me, and repeat what I told myself earlier.
"Calm down and think.Think. You went to bed alone. You didn't go to Midnight Blues. Did you? He’s your ex-boss. You woke up in his bed, but your clothes were on. But were his? Ohmigod...Amos Shay. No, he definitely had his shirt off. What about underwear? He wouldn’t—would he? You’re in his house...where evenishis house?Ughhh!" I close my eyes and tilt my head forward, letting the water from multiple shower heads rain down and drum on my neck.
Although I’m thirsty and need to drink something soon, my headache is a bit better after the pulsing jets of the shower heads. The water’s still hot, but I don’t know how big Mr. Shay's water heater is and if he'll want a shower.
Reluctantly, I finish, drying off with a thick fluffy towel and then don his thin cotton robe that thankfully hits right above my ankles. Must hit him just above the knees with as tall as he is.
I’ve got to give him the benefit of the doubt. This is Amos Shay, newly retired owner of Shay Construction, a very successful construction company in Providence Falls that does extremely well for itself, considering the extravagance of this house.
This is my ex-boss, who has never so much as looked at me the wrong way in the year I worked for him as his receptionist.Unless you count thewayhe looked at your lips yesterday.
No!
Just Mr. Shay, I repeat to myself before throwingopen the bathroom door, prepared to get some answers to my questions.
Surprise makes my limbs jolt when I see a still-shirtless Mr. Shay wearing gray sweatpants encasing what I'm sure are very muscular legs, if the rest of him is anything to judge by. He towers over me, arms resting above him on the door frame.
Whoa. Hot man alert. Cue rambling.
"Mr. Shay—wow, I didn't expect you to be so...so close. Do you need the bathroom? I’m sorry, but I just had to take a shower. I brushed my teeth, too. Oh, don’t worry, though... it wasn’t yours, it was one I found. Unopened. Hope that was okay, but I didn’t want to kill you with my morn—" His grin steadily grows the more I nervously prattle on about stupid stuff, but a thick finger to my lips cuts me right off.
Okaaaaay, then. Shushing starts now. My eyes cross, I’m sure, as I look at his finger at the end of my nose. Yes, nose. His finger is thatfreakin’long. That beast of a hand has got to be as big as my face.And I'm no delicate flower.
"Call me Amos, sweet Mercy." His lips brush my forehead. I flinch in surprise and look at him sideways. Is it because he isn't my boss anymore that he's so insistent I be informal with him? And what’s with the forehead kiss andsweetMercy? "Believe me when I say that what's mine is yours. Come eat some breakfast. That’ll go a long way in taking away your headache."
How did he know I had a headache? Did I get drunk last night and he somehow was there to take me home? That doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. He places his hand on my lower back as he guides me out of the bedroom. I feel the singeing heat of his palm through the thin material of the robe. If I were braver, I’d push his pinky up so it’s not resting on my pantiless butt.Really, Mr. Shay?
But I’m not. I’m weird like that. If a person does something embarrassing on accident, I pretend I don’t notice it, thereby saving us both the embarrassment of having to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
