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But Tina’s right. Again.
I deserve to fall in love and find out what my parents had. They were so in love with each other. Like disgustingly in love, and I always thought that one day I’d find someone to be crazy in love with too.
Smiling, I wipe off my tears and nod. But before I can say anything, my gaze falls on him.
The guy we’ve been talking about.
Somehow, I forgot that this is where his room is. Which is stupid because we were going to do the windows right by it.
Zach’s leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on me.
He’s sweaty and the only article of clothing on his body is a pair of track pants. They hang so low that they show more than they hide. Namely, that deep V of his sculpted pelvis. But the worst and most disturbing thing is a hint of the dark tuft of hair that disappears under the waistband.
I don’t want to think where it leads and how long he’s been standing there or if he heard any of the conversation Tina and I had.
And neither do I want to think about the piece of gossip that traveled this morning, alongside my midnight meltdown.
He was so scary, I swear. And then, he looked at me and said escort her out; she’s drunk. Oh and you can’t forget the last thing he said to her: don’t come back here uninvited. It was the most perfect moment. He was perfect. He totally defended you, Cleo.
Grace, who rarely gossips or gets animated about anything, was telling everyone about it at the morning meeting – animatedly – and all I could do was listen to it as I grew breathless.
He defended me. My bully defended me.
It’s impossible. I don’t believe it.
But I can’t stop myself from growing breathless again. Because he’s walking toward me.
Slow, loose steps.
I would think his walk was casual. But his eyes, which are trained on me, make everything predatory.
Something from deep within me makes me take a step back like I’m really his prey. A good, little prey, running away from the predator like I should.
Tina notices my distractedness and turns around to see what’s causing it. She grabs hold of my arm to stop me from stepping back but I tell her to leave.
“What?”
“You should go,” I tell her again, looking away from Zach, who’s still advancing on me, and at her. “I can handle this.”
“But Cleo –”
“I’ll be fine.”
Zach’s hovering over us now, or rather me. He hasn’t spared Tina a glance but he addresses her, still staring at me. “She’s right. She’ll be fine. Get lost.”
Tina swallows as he looks up at him. “If you do something –”
“Bedbugs,” he rasps. “I need to talk to her about bedbugs. Now, beat it.”
I swallow too but for Tina’s sake, I give her a small smile. “Go have a break. I’ll come get you in a bit.”
With one last look at the both of us, Tina leaves.
And then, it’s just me and him.
Zach resumes his advancing and I resume moving back.
Why do I keep moving back like I’m afraid of him? Like I can’t take him on.
Finally, I hit the wall.
My spine feels the rough, cool bricks and I look to my right. The corridor is deserted. This isn’t as isolated as the bathtub was but it still feels like a dark, shady alley.
Zach comes to a stop right in front of me, his ropy muscles all magnified and somehow, more enhanced than a few days ago when I saw him naked. He puts both his arms on either side of my head, looming over me.
He’s so close that I can see the sweat glistening on his brow. “What do you want?”
“Your dress,” he says and I claw my nails at the wall. “Is it going to be okay?”
I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting him to talk about my ruined nightie.
It was the most perfect moment. He was perfect. He totally defended you, Cleo.
“Nightie,” I tell him in a voice that matches his, for some reason. Then, I clear my throat. “It’s called a nightie. And kinda. I mean, I’m looking into it. Red wine stains are almost impossible to get out.”
Zach acknowledges the statement with a subtle nod of his head and a lazy sweep of his eyes over my face. “Maggie should know what to do.”
Oh yeah, I thought of that too. She’s good with home remedies and stuff. But I’m not going to share my plan with him.
Why are we even having this conversation?
“Ashley,” I blurt out instead. “I, uh, I heard that you sent her away. Grace was happy about it.”
“I don’t know a Grace.”
“She works for you. For your family. She’s the one you told to escort your girlfriend out.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Then, a moment later, “She wishes, though.”
