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Orlie flushes, and for the briefest second, the corners of his lips turn upward. He thinks it’s funny too.
“It’s your fault.”
“Oh, come on, you were being stubborn. You should have just let me wash the pot.”
I skootch in next to him, lightly bumping my hip against his to move him out of the way.
“Well, if I look like I peed myself, you look like you entered a wet T-shirt contest.”
I freeze mid-scrub of the pot. “I suppose I do.”
I don’t dare look at Orlie. Nor do I look down at my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra. I’m on vacation. And I don’t want to know what he’s seeing. If he can see the contours of my breasts more clearly than ever or even worsemy nipples.
Orlie clears his throat. “Um, anyway –”
“Sorry about the dishes,” I say. “It won’t happen again.” And I mean it. Because there’s no way I’m going to let Orlie Wynters enter me in a wet T-shirt contest again.
Our fourth dayat the cabin and I haven’t dared to leave my room since Orlie stomped into my room without knocking to ask me if I’d eaten his yogurt.
What he got in return was not only an answer but an eyeful of me bent over my suitcase, naked, deciding what to wear.
Again, I’d apparently left the door cracked. Need to quit that habit, it’s getting me into very strange predicaments.
Orlie shouted loudly in shock and shielded the view with his hand almost immediately. Better than me after I stared at his flaccid dick when he’d emerged from the hot tub just a few days earlier. “You’re naked!”
“Of course I’m naked! This is my room!”
Orlie ducked out of the room and asked his question through the crack in the door to which I snorted in laughter and said, “Me, eat plain yogurt? Dream on.”
“Then where did it go?”
“I don’t know. Have you been sleep-eating by any chance?” I ask.
Orlie paused.
“Wait. Do you sleep-eat?!”
“None of your business!”
I smiled to myself. Of all the weird habits to have, that’s a pretty cute one.
“Anyway, sorry about the…”
“Yeah. Guess we’re even.”
Based on Orlie’s lack of reply, I regretted saying it almost immediately, and the mortification of reminding him of how I’d found him naked climbing out of the hot tub sent me into a spiral. I abandoned all work for the day and have been watching home renovation shows on my laptop.
With a few breaks sprinkled in for…physical recreation in the form of playing with my new vibrator.
Andno, I wasn’t thinking of Orlie, how dare you even suggest such a thing?
Yes, I’m obviously lying.
Instead of meals, I’ve been binging on the snacks I kept in my backpack for the trip up here. But by dinner time, I know that raw almonds, beef jerky, and protein bars aren’t going to cut it.
I sneak out of my bedroom with hopes of avoiding Orlie at all costs, but the second I do, I am hit with the wonderful aroma of garlic and onions. He must be cooking. And against my better judgment, I want to see what he’s making.
As I walk down the stairs to the foyer, I hear some crinkling jazz music playing. The old turntable is spinning and, from the album cover, it looks to be a Miles Davis. I smile. That feels very Orlie Wynters.
