AllFreeNovel
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Nineteen
So here we are in our little room together. Or rather, I’m locked in the bathroom, taking advantage of all this hot water despite the post–summer solstice heat. Meanwhile, Nick’s out there, probably flipping through the local TV stations and wondering why in the hell I’ve been in here so long.
I take my time, washing the journey off my face and out of my hair, then hang out a little longer for a blow-dry. Finally, clean, dry, and dressed, I emerge back into the chilled room, the gusty hum of the AC blowing in the background.
“There she is.” Nick’s settled on one of the beds with his bare feet propped up, aiming the remote at the television as I suspected, but his gaze is aimed at me. “Wow, look at you,” he says, staring at me like I’m brand-new. Like maybe I can be more than his Elaine.
“What?” I ask, pulling at the edge of my oversized T-shirt—the one that felt more like a sexual buffer than my skimpier summer jammies. If my goal was to get Nick in my bed, booty shorts would be part of my strategy.
“Your hair’s all...” He waves his hand around his own head like he can’t find the words. “It looks nice.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I run my fingers through my soft strands and pull them back into a ponytail, securing it with a hair tie from my wrist.
“Feel better?”
I exhale, feeling the most refreshed I’ve felt since we left New York. “I do.”
“Good, ’cause I’ve got somethin’ for ya.” He holds the neck of a Blue Moon beer, swinging it in his hands. “You said you like this kind, right?” It was one of the things that came up on the 85 when he asked me if girls from Texas drink beer.
“When did you get this?” I take the bottle and spot the half-empty one on the nightstand between the two beds.
“While you were in the shower. I got some Doritos too.” He holds up a family-sized bag. Between the junk food and sitting on my bum all day, I’ll be ten pounds heavier before we reach Los Angeles. But how can I resist him? I mean the beer and chips.
He grabs his bottle and tilts it my way. “Wanna throw these back and watch some Seinfeld? I hooked up my media player.”
“Sure, but I don’t know if I remember how to relax and watch a show anymore.”
“It’s easy. Just watch me. I’ll show you how to do it.” He relaxes back onto his pillow and smacks his lips, letting out a super satisfactory sigh. “See?”
I giggle at his little demonstration, then grab my garbage bag pillow and mimic his position on my own bed. “Like this?”
He raises his beer. “You got it.” There’s nothing remotely sexy about this situation—I might as well be wearing my retainer. But lounging on a bed so close to Nick, even if it’s not the same bed, is alarmingly arousing. So I swallow the sensation with a swig of beer (because I’m sure drinking an inhibition-dulling substance will help the situation). “I’ll load up your favorite episode.”
“ ‘The Contest’?” Good idea. Watching that episode will only reinforce the idea of sexual deprivation.
“Yep.” He clicks the remote and that unforgettable bass-slapping Seinfeld score begins. Ten minutes in, we’re cringing and cackling at all the classic moments, nursing our beers, and crunching tortilla chips—our respective beds are littered with Cool Ranch crumbs. When Nick laughs, he really laughs. The sound is deep and warm and he doesn’t try to hamper it with a hand over his mouth. His eyes crinkle at the corners. His Adam’s apple dances. We seem to find humor in all the same things so our laughter’s perfectly in sync.
In some ways, this might even be better than sex.
Nick catches me looking at him and I gulp back my beer, turning my attention to the show. “You wanna watch another one?” he asks.
“Yes, please.” I set my drink down and settle under the covers with the blankets pulled up to my chin, then peek my foot out of the corner, only to tuck it back in again from the chilly air. “Hey, Nick, would you mind turning down the AC? It’s really cold,” I ask, wondering how a room in Atlanta in the middle of summer could get this frosty.
“What?” he says with his hand digging in the Doritos bag. “I didn’t hear what you said because I was eating a chip.”
I chuckle. “I said can you turn down the AC?”
“You mean turn it up?”
“No, turning it up means making it colder. I want it warmer.”
“If you want it warmer, I have to turn it up. Higher temperatures are warmer than lower temperatures. Don’t they teach you this stuff in college?”
Right when I was getting all relaxed, he wants to razz me. “We’re not all trade school graduates, Nick, and I didn’t say turn the temperature down, I said turn the AC down.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” I throw the covers off and march over to the unit beneath the window next to his bed.
