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The enormous king bed, dressed in the most inviting white linens ever, does not. Neither does the bathroom being connected to the bedroom. Clearly Theo is sleeping on the sofa in the living area, but what if he needs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? What if he takes a shower and he forgets I’m here and he walks into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel? My head will legitimately explode if I see his bare shoulders and his bare chest and his tight stomach all at once.
I don’t realize I’m digging aimlessly through the contents of my suitcase until I’m holding a pair of underwear in my hand. Naturally they’re my favorite pair, true granny panties that have grown insanely soft yet tragically janky from years of wear.
I don’t realize Theo is watching me until he clears his throat and says, “So, um. How do you want to do this?”
I stuff the underwear in my back pocket—why God why—and straighten, smoothing my hair out of my face. “I bet that sofa pulls out. Let’s make your bed, then you can use the bathroom while I, uh . . . call my mom?”
I don’t know why that last part comes out as a question.
That’s a lie. I totally know why, and that’s because I haven’t spoken to my mom in weeks. Has it even been a month now? More? I lost track after that voicemail I left her went unanswered.
“Cool. I should probably call my mom too,” Theo replies easily, turning to the sofa. He bends down to remove the cushions, making the fabric of his shirt stretch across his shoulders and back. Awareness settles inside my skin, making the ache in my center pulse hotter.
I keep my gaze focused on my hands as I help him pull out the mattress from the other side of the sofa. “You guys talk often? You and your mom?”
“We do.” He disappears into the closet in the bedroom, returning a second later with a set of fresh sheets and two extra pillows.
I grab the pillows and begin stuffing them inside the pillowcases. “I imagine it’s really nice, having that kind of relationship. Being close that way.”
“It is. Sometimes.” He tucks the fitted sheet around the mattress in quick, easy movements. He’s done this before. A lot. “Other times, my family’s just a huge pain in my ass.”
I laugh. “Still sounds nice.”
I feel him looking at me so I glance up. His brows are scrunched together. “You’re not close with your family?”
“Not really, no. I’m an only child, and my parents have always kind of been into their own thing.”
“See, that sounds nice to me.”
We’ve finished making the bed, so I straighten, putting my hands on my lower back. “Trust me, it’s not.”
He’s straightened too, and now we’ve locked eyes from across his pullout bed. It’s not hot in the room, but the tension that stretches between us makes it feel like it is.
Tell me more, his eyes say. I know because that’s what I’m trying to say too.
@WSBathroom 2/23
A&T’s financial earnings aren’t the only things falling in Charlotte: a snow storm has shut the city down, grounding all flights and sending employees home for a long weekend.
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@WSBathroom 2/23
We wonder what shenanigans these financiers will get up to on their snow days. Do you know who’s shacking up together? Don’t be shy, share the details via DM!
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@WSBathroom 2/23
In other Charlotte-based news, more on the missing portfolio manager’s wife . . . we’re hearing she was wooed away from her husband by none other than an A&T employee! #yikes
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@WSBathroom 2/23
If that’s true (our sources are rock solid), there’s going to be a MAJOR shake-up at the investment bank. Stealing a client’s wife is a fireable offense, and may result in a lawsuit as well.
* * *
@WSBathroom 2/23
Let’s take a poll: do you think the Wife Stealing Affair will end in a shake-up, a murder, or lots of boning?
Shake-up: 10% responders
Murder: 67% responders
Boning: 12% of responders
11% responders say there will be boning, THEN murder
Chapter Twenty
Theo
I’d assumed Nora Frasier, daughter of Chuck Frasier, had the kind of charmed childhood I’d always dreamed about.
Comfort. Security. Parents who had an education and jobs and a plan to provide her with the best money could buy. Private school, tennis lessons, and SAT prep courses, plus a fully funded 529 account.
It never occurred to me that, despite having all these things, Nora might have had less than I did. She might’ve wanted what I had growing up. Which, frankly, blows my mind.
It also turns me on. I look at her and I see myself in her gaze. The loneliness. The burning desire to belong. The need to know more and have more, even though she has everything.
Or so I thought.
