Page 55 of Liquids

“What?”

“A load of whoppers,” Agnes adds. “She made it all up. Sadie thought she had ’im.”

“How on earth did Sadie’s cleaner find all this out?”

“Apparently, she overheard Sadie on the phone telling some friend of hers the whole story.”

“Come on, ladies, let’s start washing your hair while we talk. I’m supposed to be going to June after you two, and I can’t do that if I spend all day gossiping with you.”

“She’s bossy, isn’t she?” Agnes says.

“All the best ones are,” Marge replies. “June’ll fill you in,” she adds, tapping her nose.

I learned all my good bossy tricks from them, I don’t say. Christ, Sadie tried to trap him? No wonder he said it was his biggest regret. He also said she was always doing something stupid. How did she think he wouldn’t find out?

I’m an idiot for not asking him about Sadie, but God, I get why he’s so relationship-shy now. I hope he doesn’t think that I’d ever do anything like that. Christ, I’m so down on myself that I let her get into my head. I blow out a long breath. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about the whole story, was he? Why didn’t he tell me about this?

19

THE WATERLINE

One week later, I open the door on a breezy but bright May morning in my PJs, and Rig is standing on my doorstep, sunglasses hooked into the front of his T-shirt, revealing a triangle of fur on his chest above the pale-blue cotton. How I don’t throw myself on him, I don’t know.

He smiles. “Hey, babe.”

I shuffle backward, not meeting his eyes. “Hey, how’re you doing? You want a coffee?”

He lifts up a bag from the convenience store that’s dangling by his side. I didn’t spot it before because I was too distracted by the chest hair.

“Thought we might recap on old times and have a cooked breakfast.”

I purse my lips, trying not to smile. “Didn’t you fuck me on the countertop last time we did that?” I say.

He leans right in, eyes narrowed but so fucking amused, and he smells like cold blue waves and coal tar soap. I want to press my nose into him. “You up for that?” he growls.

My body screams at me to take what he’s offering, but I shake my head. “We agreed we weren’t doing that anymore.”

“Shame,” he says with a smile, walking past me and retrieving a pan from a kitchen cabinet. “Sex is always amazing when I’ve just come off a rig.”

Oh God, I remember, and I don’t want to remember.

“A bacon sandwich would be great for me. I’m just going to shower and …”

“No, you’re not.”

“What?”

“You’re not showering when I can hear it and imagine … stuff I don’t fucking need to be imagining … or remembering what we did in that shower.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

I grin at him. His eyes roam over my face, and he runs a heavy hand down his face. “Fuck.”

He turns around and starts ripping open a packet of bacon. He waves a hand behind him toward the bedroom. “Go and put a big fucking sweater on.”

So I scoot off, a wild thrill taking over my whole body at having him back in the apartment with his battered hands and his wide shoulders and his crazy untamed hair. I stop when I get to the closet, smiling to myself. Gah. I step forward, rummaging through my drawers for my favorite sweater, hugging it to my chest. God, I love him.

Oh shit! I love him.