AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Stop! Stop! Please stop!” Jess’s panicked voice comes through the closed door.
Screw modesty. Jess isscreamingin there. I barge into the bathroom. And come to a skidding halt in a puddle of water.
Hair dripping wet, in a see-through white tank, Jess is on her knees using her sweatshirt as a shield between her and the gush of water shooting out the bidet.
chapter 19
Jess
T didn’t ask about Mom Monday morning. He just pulled me into his arms and hugged me forever. It hurt to hold everything in. I started crying and told him everything. Even about the nights I sleep in my walk-in closet so I don’t hear them fighting. We skipped school (T’s never done that) and went to that pizza place with the indoor kiddie rides. He barely fit in the bumper cars. But he said I needed to laugh. And he was right. He makes me feel safe, like everything’s going to be okay.
~ from the diary of Elizabeth Sara Thorne (age16)
The bang of the bathroom door against the wall startles me. I drop my sweatshirt and scramble back, hitting my head on the empty towel bar.
Gabe gapes at the geyser in the middle of hisBetter Homes and Gardensbathroom, then lunges for the oval knob at the bottom of the toilet and cuts the water supply.
I sink to the floor, a wreck of a hot mess. Regurgitated toilet water streams down my cheeks. There’s one hand towel in this bathroom, and it’s wetter than I am.
Almost as water-logged as me, Gabe slicks back hair that’s dripping down his forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I’m... sorrysorrysorry.” So sorry my bladder’s freakishly small and that I messed with the second toilet and that I’ll never ever be able to erase the last few minutes.
His lips do a funny little twitch, and he bursts out laughing. A deep-belly sound that bounces off the empty white walls until I’m seventy kinds of mortified.
“Stop laughing at me.” A tremble skips across my words. I can’t even talk right. I can’t do anything right. Not with a toilet or the conference or my book or my life.
“I’m not laughingatyou.” That belly laugh swells so much I can barely understand him.
“You’re not laughingwithme.” When I left the hotel, I was worried about smelling like a tropical drink. Now I probably smell like a sewer.
He crawls over to sit next to me, picks up a soggy lock of my hair and tugs until I look at him. “You’re cute when you’re wet.” His lips do that twitching thing again.
“I need a bleach bath.”
“The water’s clean.” Something changes in his eyes, and his gaze takes a trip from my face to my tank.
My see-through tank. I dive for my soggy sweatshirt and hug it close to my chest. Just what I wanted to add to the list of things I’d never done until I met Gabe—wet T-shirt contest.
“What happened?” His gaze glides back to my face.
Other than I gave him a preview of something no other guy has seen? “I broke your toilet... thingie.” I wave my hand toward the ceramic bowl.
While it seems like he might be hunting for a neutral expression, his mouth keeps turning up. “It’s a bidet.” He pushes the wet hair out of my face. “And it was already busted. I didn’t know you’d use it.”
Bidet. My mental dictionary dings, and in a single OMG-second, I know exactly why a person uses a bidet. “I didn’t use it. I... ” Messed it with it. Sinking inside myself to the slow drain of my dignity, I bend my knees, bury my face, and groan.
“It’s my fault.” Kneeling in front of me, he lifts my chin. “I should’ve sent you to another bathroom.”
I wipe my face on my sweatshirt, which makes it wetter, and rest my head against the wall. Even though Gabe said the water was clean, I still feel like I’m covered in layers of slime. “I should’ve stayed in the car.”
“And miss all this?” He widens his arms and his eyes. “Hands down, highlight of my week.”
“I’m glad I could amuse you.” My tone’s the driest thing about me.
“I really wasn’t laughing at you.” He squeezes my arms.
Sweatshirt locked to my chest, I search his face.
