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“I’ll be ready.”
I grab my bags and leave the kitchen, walking down the hallway and into the guest bedroom for the first time.
Oliver’s entire penthouse is professionally decorated, all matching furniture and coordinated shades. It’s beautiful, but empty. It’s obvious he doesn’t spend much time here.
The guest room is all shades of blue. I drop my bags on the navy comforter and then head across the hall to grab my bag of toiletries from Oliver’s bathroom. Thankfully he’s still in the kitchen, so I don’t have to navigate another stilted encounter.
I rush back into the guest room, shutting the door and leaning against it with a sigh, acting like I just completed a perilous mission.
I exhale, trying to release the anxiety in the same rush. I thought I’d be able to handle this better.
All week, I knew this had an expiration date. I thought simply knowing that would protect me. That logic would soften the blow. That this would be a fun fling with a guy I’m intrigued by and attracted to. That’s the problem, though. I’mtoointrigued.Tooattracted.
I just got into my dream school, hundreds of miles away from where Oliver lives and works. My past is entangled with his family in an awkward way. And most importantly, Oliver has never given me any clear indication hewantsthis to last.
We were never going to end any other way.
I neverthoughtwe’d end any other way.
But thinking about it won’t stop stinging, like the invisible, persistent slice of a paper cut. I never thought inevitability would hurt this much.
I head into the bathroom with my bag of toiletries, stripping out of the jeans and sweatshirt and stepping into the shower. Everything in here is made of marble: the floor, the counters, even the walls. All the light fixtures and accents are black metal.
I don’t register much of the luxurious surroundings beyond those contrasting colors, stepping behind the glass pane and turning on the shower head. It has ten different settings, becauseof courseit does. I opt for rain.
Warm water falls in gentle pelts as I scrub and soap and shave. Reluctantly, I shut the shower off and grab one of the fluffy towels hanging on a hook, drying off and then wrapping it around my torso as I pad across the tile floor until I reach the vanity.
The mirror is covered with steam since I forgot to switch on the vent. I brush my teeth and comb my hair while I wait for it to clear.
I usually straighten my hair, so I decide to curl it for tonight. Thanks to the natural wave in the texture, I have to straighten andthencurl it, which takes twice as long. Time I don’t really have, since I delayed coming back here until the last possible minute. Once the last spiral falls, I comb through the curls, spray them, and then pull a few pieces back with bobby pins. Satisfied with my hair, I start on my makeup.
The dress Savannah talked me into purchasing is bolder than I was planning to wear. The last wedding I attended was for an older cousin. That one took place in Santa Monica, right by the beach. Most of the guests were barefoot for the ceremony and the reception. It was casual and bohemian and nothing like the chic events I’ve attended here.
My dress tonight is a brilliant teal, a departure from the navy or black gowns I usually wear to fancier events. There are ruffles gathered at the shoulders and capping the hem. It has a sweetheart neckline that’s fairly modest, but the back is sheer lace, with a delicate column of fabric buttons running down the center.
I feel pretty with it on. It’s beautiful armor.
Two minutes remain in my hour by the time my makeup is finished. I rush into the bedroom, still in a towel, pulling the matching clutch and silver heels out of their bags. The clutch is only big enough for my phone, credit card, and a tube of lip gloss. I shove it all in, praying I’m not forgetting anything.
There’s a knock on the door. I spin, pulse pounding.
“Hannah?”
“Yeah?” My grip on the towel tightens.
“The car is here, and traffic is bad. Are you ready?”
“I’m naked.” I say the first thing that comes to mind, then screw my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the words that feel like they’re hovering in the air between us, gaining size and substance. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be right out. Just give me a minute.”
There’s alongpause.
This morning, he fingered me in his lap. Now, it feels like we’re total strangers.
I don’t know if Oliver is reacting to my coolness or deciding to pull away as well. The guy who carried me from the balcony to bed last night would burst in here and smirk as he watched me get dressed. But the girl who fell asleep on him would have left the door open. Wouldn’t be getting ready in the guest room at all.
It’s disconcerting how so much familiarity can disappear so quickly, like a popped balloon.
“Okay.” Oliver finally responds. I listen to his quiet steps walk away, then release a deep breath.
