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She is staring wide-eyed at us, watching our conversation unfold. Unable to control my anger once again, I unleash my frustrations on her. “See, that’s why you don’t assume.”
I grab the tickets she issues us for the next flight and walk away without thanking her.
Geez, Presley, calm down the hormones. A growl escapes me, and I think it’s my anger, but it turns out to be my stomach. This day—or should I say weekend—has gone from terrible to disastrous.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” Haden suggests, taking both our bags and walking toward the exit.
We head outside the airport and straight to the hotel across the road. It is no five-star, but it’s acceptable for a night’s rest.
“You want to go to the restaurant?” he asks.
“Room service. We’ve got vouchers.” I smile in delight.
As soon as we settle in, I’m on the phone with the restaurant, ordering everything on the menu. And I mean everything. Haden announces that he’s going to change in the bathroom. Moments later, he emerges with his PJ bottoms on and no top.
“Do you always parade around shirtless?” I pry, trying to come off annoyed rather than interested.
“Does it bother you?”
“No… yes… it must be your generation,” I say, mostly to myself.
“I’m sure you oldies do it. Try it some time? Why not now?” he drags with an inviting smirk.
I exhale loudly to cover my embarrassment.
Haden one.
Presley zero.
I grab my clothes and head to the shower. The steaming hot water is exactly what I need, and as my body relaxes, my skin begins to prune. Getting changed into my tank and boxers, I cringe at having to wear a bra to bed. It’s extremely uncomfortable with the size of these bazookas, but what choice do I have? The tank I’m wearing is light pink, and my nipples have darkened from the pregnancy, not to mention their size. I could have given the Amazonian ladies on National Geographic a run for their money.
Exiting the room, I see that Haden has taken the lids off the plates, and my stomach rumbles embarrassingly. The plates surround the bed, and I jump on it, immediately devouring everything in sight. On my last bite, I let out a sigh.
“Jesus, I thought you were kidding when you said you could eat all that.” He finishes taking his last bite.
“Baby needed it,” I tell him.
“The buffalo wings as well?”
“Yes.”
“And the cheesy fries?”
“Yes,” I repeat.
“The pizza with extra toppings and salad on the side?”
“Yes, and yes.” I smile, satisfied.
“The chocolate mud cake?”
“No, that was for me.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, curling his lips as he laughs. “Well, you still look beautiful. Eloise would never eat anything like that. She’s into this stupid diet where everything has to be green. Even the wedding menu is all green.”
I stop laughing and stare at the television uncomfortably. Firstly, who invented green diets? What a waste of perfectly good and delicious colorful food. Secondly, that’s twice he has mentioned my looks. At what point do I classify that as infatuation instead of just admiration? Both times he’s done it, I have frozen up with no following comment to offer. After last night’s misadventures, I am extremely cautious about being in the same room as him. It would be silly of me to take these passing comments to heart.
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can sleep on the bed, too. Just no scary movies?”
