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I stand, taking in my flushed appearance in the large mirror, splashing some cold water on my face, then patting it dry with a washcloth, which is in a paler gray than the bath towel.
I sniff my armpits, giving them the thumbs-up, pleased I don’t need to seek out a deodorant, although Tucker does smell nice.
Blowing into my hand, I feel brushing my pearls might be next on the agenda. Nothing worse than poo-breath. I hunt down a new gray toothbrush (of course), clumsily busting it out of its packaging before squeezing the paste in a drunken line, which would get me thrown in the clink if I had to walk a straight white line right now instead of cleaning my teeth.
After a minute of brushing, there is more frothy white paste outside my mouth than in it.
Close enough.
Finished, I hold onto the bathroom sink, feeling dumbfounded that I am in this predicament.
How did this happen?
It happened because you want it to happen.
No, I don’t? I glare at myself in the mirror.
Yeah, you do.
I scowl at my reflection. I’m getting close to the finish line, and this cocky guy had to walk into a café and haul me over his shoulder.
Why do I hear Jerry Seinfeld’s voice narrating my inner monologue instead of mine?You like him, he smells good, he’s sexy. Take a night off.
We have rules!
But rules are meant to be bent—my reflection winks. Itdid!
I mutter how I’m my worst enemy.
I come out of the bathroom to find Alice sitting cross-legged in the middle of Tucker’s bed in her pajamas with two thick photo albums.
Somebody has put on the bedside light and drawn the curtains, blocking any light from coming in, making me feel even sleepier, although the sun is still shining outside.
There are two bottles of water sitting on a bedside table. I narrow my eyes. At least I think I do. Tucker knew Alice—his secret weapon—would be here to make me feel guilty about leaving later.
“Teagan’s spare pajamas for you, Ophelia.” Alice pats the clothing beside her. Sleep shorts and a camisole in black. “I like wearing my pajamas. They are comfortable.” She’s wearing cute pajamas with doughnuts on them.
Oh, boy. It looks like the decision is no longer mine. “Thank you, Alice.” I yawn. “Love your pajamas.”
I will save Teagan’s pajamas for later. I never get into pajamas until I’m ready for proper bedtime, even though I had convinced myself in the bathroom cave to come out and crawl into them.
“Ophelia, would you like to see some of my photo albums?”
Of course, I can’t say no to Alice. “I would love to.” I pad over in my socks to climb up onto the large bed, taking my place beside Alice. I guess we are having an afternoon slumber party, by the looks of it.
We lean back against the comfortable layers of pillows, and Alice starts narrating her photo album for the next hour at least.
She has a brilliant eye for candid photos. I get lost in her enthusiasm and find myself laughing along with her at the stories she tells me about some of the ‘little brother’ photos.
I’m beginning to wonder if Alice got sent to assassinate any thoughts I have of leaving, drawing me further into her brother’s world via her photo albums and her loveable personality.
Another yawn escapes me. Sangria, a belly full of good food and sea air, will do that to you.
I’ve worked my arse off these past six months, seven days a week, so I am too tired to stay awake late by nightfall, and then I’m up at the crack of dawn the next day. Rinse and repeat. I don’t laze around on the bed mid-afternoon, relaxing with sangria flowing through my veins, looking at photo albums of a man who is getting under my skin, and not in a wrong way.
Another yawn tries to pull me under, my eyes drooping.
“Ophelia?”
