Page 18

The world tilts with déjà vu when I open my eyes and look out a window that doesn’t belong to me. For a second, I wonder if I’m dreaming. Then, reality taps a finger on my forehead, and I remember. Groaning, I close my eyes, rolling onto my back and pulling the sheets up to cover my face. After a second, I push them back down only far enough to breathe, taking inventory of my body.

Head? Not bad, all things considered. Aching, but not pounding. A win. Stomach? Again, not bad, and will likely feel much better with food in it. Ego? Damaged. Possibly beyond repair.

Chewing my lip, I stare up at the ceiling, heart pounding hard enough I can feel it in my skull. I don’t ever drink that much. Don’t ever drink at all, really. And while I wasn’t blackout drunk, thankfully, I was certainly drunk enough for the alcohol to have smoothed away any hard edges of control. But, unfortunately, not drunk enough to forget any of it.

Ryan asked who he might be able to call to pick me up. Dryden, he’d wondered? Shiloh? Nils, I’d told him, and then proceeded to monologue about all the man’s most desirable attributes at a volume that makes me shudder to recall. The Temptress waspackedwith locals. Now, everybody who lives in Siren’s Point and has ears is going to know I think Wrangler needs to pay Nils for the free advertising his thighs do in their jeans. I also remember meeting a guy who seemed pretty nice but whom Nils very clearly didn’t like once he showed up. I remember Nils putting an arm around my waist and me swooning against him, wanting to feel every inch of him against me. I remember baby chickens. I remember taking a shower in his bathroom.

And, most damning of all, I remember opening the bathroom door to let the steam out, wearing nothing but a pair of vivid green, lacy briefs that probably couldn’t cover less skin if they tried. I’d felt so confident and comfortable, standing there mostly naked, damp, and with just enough alcohol in my system to convince myself of safety. Nils had been sitting on the bed like he’d been waiting to make sure I didn’t fall and hurt myself in the shower. Instead, he’d gotten a show he didn’t ask for and one he likely didn’t appreciate.

Closing my eyes, I fight the urge to burrow under the sheets again and hide. I can’t stay here forever. At some point, I will need to walk downstairs, have coffee with Nils, thank him for driving me home, and apologize for flashing him. At some point, I will no longer be able to hope that Nils won’t care about seeing me in lingerie and find out whether he does in actuality.

He didn’t seem upset last night. Embarrassed, maybe. Probably, he would have been embarrassed to see me undressed anytime. Maybe he didn’t even see the underwear. I don’t know what possessed me to put it on in the first place. I hadn’t gone to the bar to pick up, and if I had, I wouldn’t have worn anything femme. That’s not a present some men like unwrapping, and that’s a lesson I’ve learned well enough to not need a second helping.

Sometimes, though, I like going out and wearing something pretty under my normal clothes. I like knowing my toenails are painted, and some part of me—no matter how small—is genuine.

I hear the sound of the back door opening downstairs, and a second later, the soft click as it closes. The house, so quiet and still before, now feels filled up with possibility. Nils is inside, and it’s time for me to stop being a coward. Sitting up, I toss the sheets back and sit on the edge of the mattress. Nils and I are the same size, and his clothes fit perfectly. Yet, somehow still better. Sliding my hands along the soft fabric covering my thighs, I try not to think of what I’ve got on below. I hope Nils isn’t thinking about what I’ve got on below.

Something very similar to terror pushes against my lungs. Nils and I work together. He could make a lot of trouble for me on a daily basis. Hell, he could probably convince Shiloh to fire me if he really wanted to. They’ve been working together a lot longer than I’ve been a part of the crew.

“Calm down,” I mutter to myself, digging my nails into my thighs. Nils didn’t care what kind of underwear I was wearingbefore, and he probably still doesn’t now.

Except as I make my way downstairs, I think about how that should apply to everyone, and it rarely does. People always care. Even the ones who say they don’t, who say they accept you as you are. Those are the worst, in fact, because at least a bigot can always be counted on to act like a bigot. The ones who pretend they aren’t—who try to fool themselves at the same time as they fool you—is where the true danger lies. I’ve experienced both, and as I pause in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Nils’ back as he fiddles with the stove, I wonder if this was a morning where I wouldn’t have been better off sneaking out the front door.

The moment passes, however, when he feels my gaze and glances over his shoulder. I’ve never been so grateful to see a smile as I am right now. The slightest bit of tension recedes. I shove my hands into the pockets of Nils’ sweatpants, not wanting my fidgeting to be visible.

“Morning,” I greet him, and then, before I can even pause for breath, “I’m sorry about last night. I should have had Ryan call someone else. Shouldn’t have even drunk that much in the first place. I—I hope I didn’t ruin your night or anything.”

Nils shrugs, still smiling, and gestures toward the island. I know what discomfort, embarrassment, and anger all look like on his face. I’m not seeing any of them now. I slide onto a barstool, keeping my hands below the lip of the counter and fighting the urge to hum.

“Do the chickens need anything? The baby ones, that is? Or the others,” I add. “Do you want me to cook breakfast? Ican. The least I can do, really. You don’t have to feed me at all, actually. I can go home.”

I’m already gearing up to rise when Nils turns to face me, holding his hand out flat, palm down, and gesturing in asit down and relaxkind of way. I’m not sure I can handle anything but the sitting, but I’ll try my best. If he wants me to stay, I’ll stay. Maybe I didn’t learn my past lessons as thoroughly as I thought I did.

“I checked them,” he replies, scooping scrambled eggs onto a plate and pulling two pieces of bread from the toaster. Butter and jelly are both already waiting on the island, as well as a fork and a knife, as though he had prepared a place setting for me ahead of time.Romantic, I think a little sadly.

“The chicks?” I clarify, surprised. They’re in my bathroom. No, notmyanything, the guest bathroom. Nils nods and slides the plate over the counter toward me. “Thank you. When did you do that? I must have been dead asleep—I didn’t wake up once.”

He nods again, smiling as though thinking it was cute that I didn’t wake up when he checked on them. Geez, now I’m really losing control of reality. I doubt there was anything cute about me sleeping off a drinking binge. It’s more likely he’s worried about the state his sheets are in after I drooled on them all night.

Nils goes back to the stove to make his own eggs, the pan sizzling as he pours them in. Another pair of bread slices are dropped into the toaster. I make it until he turns back around before I can’t take it any longer. I don’t like not knowing where I stand. If this ground is shaky, I’d rather know for sure than fallon my butt later.

“So, hey, uhm, I think I might have accidentally…when I got out of the shower last night, I think I sort of…flashed you,” I finish lamely. Oliver, overtalker extraordinaire, stumbling over the best way to ask if my coworker peeped my lime-green, lace-covered dick last night. What a joke.

One hand using the soft spatula to mix the eggs, Nils settles against the counter so we can maintain eye contact. One shoulder lifts in a shrug, and half his mouth moves like he’s going to smile.So what?his expression says. I’d prefer if his face screamedyeah, and I was into it, but I recognize this is probably a situation where I need to just be happy with what I can get.

“Sorry about that,” I repeat, unsure of what else I’m supposed to say. Sorry you saw my panties? How mortifying.

“It’s okay.” Another shrug, this one paired with a head tilt to show he’s confused about why I’m making a big deal about this. Apparently, I do need to be more explicit.

“I don’t usually parade around in my underwear.”

Nils raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t.”

Tipping my head from side to side, I eat a bit of my eggs.Parademight not have been the right word. Still, accidental show-and-tell wasn’t how I thought my night would end yesterday, and I very much doubt Nils thought his would either. Come pick Oliver up from the bar, they said—it’ll be fun!

Before I can say anything else, Nils clears his throat and straightens. There is the smallest of movements in his shoulders, the way there always is when he’s getting ready to talk. It’s like he’s unconsciously squaring them, setting himself at attention,ready to take a hit. I wait.

“You-you-you-yours is p-p-prettier than mine.”