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Timothy finds me in the kitchen. He’s down to his shorts and is dripping wet. He wraps his arms around me from behind and cold water seeps into my clothes. “Come ride me in the pool.”
I glance outside. A blond woman in a black T-shirt is perched on Danny’s shoulders and a topless redhead is on Nic’s. “Absolutely not. And you shouldn’t be doing that either.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll take an elbow to the head and die.”
Timothy turns me in his arms, pressing his forehead to mine. “I won’t. Come on, baby.”
My body is vibrating with irritation now. “No. I’m not going tits out on your shoulders.”
“I’m not sharing your tits with these losers, keep your shirt on. Just get on my shoulders and help me take down Stella and Danny.”
Nic and the redhead are down already. Stella has her hands in the air, cheering.
“This isn’t my kind of thing, Timothy.”
His face scrunches. “The woman who caused my shopping cart to crash while racing down Broadway—cheap shot, by the way, and I think Mrs. Kiki Foxx would agree—doesn’t do a little pool wrestling?”
He has a point and I hate it. Racing shopping carts with drag queens on board was a very memorable friendiversary night, but it was before his accident. Things are different now. “Timothy, please. Don’t risk it.”
“You don’t want me to, huh?” Hurt fills his brown puppy eyes, whipping guilt up inside me.
I don’t want it to be like this with us. I don’t want to hold him back until he resents me. Until he moves on to someone who won’t tell him no.
“You might be back at full strength, but your mom is still paying me to keep you out of trouble. Please, Timothy.”
His expression shifts into a smile and he kisses me. “Okay.”
Danny calls him in a big, booming voice. Timothy smiles at me apologetically, kisses me quickly, and struts outside, hollering back at Danny that he’s out. I wish I didn’t hear the chorus of boos, but I do.
His friends will grow to resent me too. The girlfriend who doesn’t let her boyfriend have any fun.
All I want is to keep him safe.
Timothy is good on his word. He finds a beach ball somewhere and jumps into the pool. This is marginally better than the wrestling, as far as stray elbows are concerned, but I’m not about to drag him from the pool like he’s a child in front of all his friends.
One call to Celia and I could end this party right now. Not sure Timothy and Nic would forgive me, though. This shit is exactly what I feared when his mom asked me to do this.
I sit on a lounge chair by the pool and resign myself to watching Timothy like a hawk, wishing I could smother him in Bubble Wrap and hating how raw my nerves are.
The influencer eventually comes and talks to me about the thongs. We exchange contact info and talk a bit before she’s pulled away by one of the models. She seems nice and Nic had a point—she could make my brand huge, and that’s worth a box of thongs I can’t sell. Or it would be if I were ready. The pictures are already online, but she agrees not to tag me. I’m lucky that she’s interested in helping me launch a marketing campaign when I’m ready to expand.
I don’t feel lucky.
Timothy’s in his element. Laughing, shouting, and being rowdier than he should be, but not doing anything I can directly yell at him for. We were so tightly wrapped in our little bubble, I forgot about this part of him, and now that we’re here, the fear he’ll get bored with me is back and loud.
The feeling in my gut tells me a clock has started ticking, and it isn’t the one marking when I’m done keeping an eye on him. It’s our relationship. I’ll smother him, and he’ll fray me until all that’s left of both of us is hurt and resentment.
Pushing these thoughts away is hard. I try to ignore them, but they cling to my shadow.
I’m pulled into dozens of conversations—I know too many people—and in the chaos of the party, I lose track of Timothy. I trust him, but some ugly thing deep inside me calls me stupid for it, reminding me of him disappearing with that woman at the bowling alley.
The sun goes down. I’m tired of haunting this party. I tell Nic I’m clocking out on Timothy duty and it’s his turn. But I fix myself a drink and plant my ass on the second flight of stairs, high enough that I can still keep an eye on things. Guess I’m not really off the clock. I pull out my phone and look at my mood board for my shop, hoping it will help soothe my nerves.
I’m not tied to a job or an apartment. Maybe if I’m going to move cross-country, this is the time. The situation with the influencer changes the equation a bit…if I can rely on her to keep her word once I’m ready, and who knows when that will be?
I jump when someone sits next to me. Relief eases the tightness in my stomach until I turn and see it’s not Timothy.
