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“Well,” Leila says, pulling away entirely and patting me on the cheek. “I don’t see anything in your eye. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks,” I mutter; my eyes still intent on Leila.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Wrigley asks.
I turn, and Wrigley’s standing there in the doorway to my bedroom, naked from the waist down.
“I’m not feeling so well,” Leila says, getting up, her eyes on the ground. “It’s nice to meet you,” she adds as she passes Wrigley and makes her way into her own room.
“Too bad,” Wrigley says. “She looked like she was ready to go.”
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Nine
Cold Turkey
Leila
I don’t think I’m going to be drinking again anytime soon. At least, that is, as long as Dane is still living here.
It’s funny, but I never thought I’d be longing for that temporary amnesia I had after that night in the club with Mike. Given what happened, or almost happened, between Dane and me last night, I don’t think alcohol is the best idea.
Today’s the first day I’ve called in sick in my life.
It’s well into the afternoon, and I’m scared to leave my room. I can’t face Dane right now. Not after that.
There’s a problem, though.
I’ve had to pee for about the last hour, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to lie in here and avoid reality.
Usually, this is one of those times when I would give Mike a call and suckle from the teat of his folksy wisdom. Yeah, that’s what he insists on calling it when I go to him for advice.
I’d much rather just ac
t like nothing ever happened in the first place.
Maybe that’s my in.
I get up and open the door.
Dane is in the kitchen, eating a sandwich, and I pretend that I don’t see him as I walk across the living room to the bathroom.
“Good morning,” he says, his mouth full and losing crumbs.
“Hey,” I answer, not looking over or slowing my pace.
A few minutes later, I’m on the inside of the locked bathroom, and I’m having that dilemma again. He acknowledged my presence, so he’s going to want to talk to me when I come out of here.
Maybe I can just stay in here.
I mean, there’s running water to drink—from the sink, mind you. I’m not an animal. Well, no more than anyone else.
If I’d remembered to grab my phone, I could order pizza and Chinese food and have them come up the fire escape and deliver my sustenance through the smallish bathroom window. Yeah, I’m sure they won’t go for it at first, but I’m an excellent tipper. A pizza box wouldn’t fit through the window, but I can always have the guy pass it through piece by piece.
I could make a bed out of towels and have Mike run any personal errands that may arise.
Sure, I’ll run out of money pretty fast as I won’t really be able to work, but maybe I can have Mike bring over a laptop and try my hand at stay-at-home customer service.
