Maid for Each Other(10)
Johnny: Abi is cool as shit
Johnny: Abi looks great
Johnny: The girl is smart and knows the material—you’ve got nothing to worry about
“Abi?” I stepped through the doorway, onto the balcony, and there she was.
She was sitting at the teak table in a black rain jacket with a towel wrapped around her head, writing in a notebook under the patio umbrella that I rarely opened. Her bare feet were propped up on the chair across from her, and when I said her name again, she held up a finger without looking up and said, “Hang on for a quick sec.”
Oh-kay. I stood there, getting sprinkled on, unsure of what the hell I was waiting for while her hand scribbled words frantically. I’d expected her to be ready and waiting by the door, not dressed like a freshly showered flasher who was immersed in fucking gratitude journaling.
On my deck.
In the rain.
With her toes out.
Her behavior didn’t bode well for a calm, uneventful evening, damn it.
“What are you doing?” I asked, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “We—”
“Shhhh,” she said, her Bic flying over the paper. “I just don’t want to forget. One minute.”
My jaw hurt from how hard I was grinding my teeth together in an attempt not to sigh or curse as I waited.
“Okay,” she said, still writing. Her face was intense as she finished and muttered, “I…am…done.”
With that, she closed the notebook and looked up at me.
“Wow,” she said, her mouth sliding into a grin. “You look fancy.”
“Thank you…？” I said, for some reason irritated by how relaxed she was. Shouldn’t she be nervous about our situation, or at the very least subdued? It felt wildly overconfident for her to be shoeless and smiling at me that way. “Do you know how much time you’ll need to be ready? We should probably leave as soon as possible.”
“Oh. I’m ready,” she said, standing. She clutched the notebook and a can of Red Bull to her chest as she stepped around me and into my apartment.
Okay, then, I thought as I followed her inside, shutting the sliding door behind me.
“Give me two minutes,” she said, untying the jacket while she walked in the direction of the bedroom. “I just need to put on my shoes.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for her to shed the jacket as she crossed the living room. She pulled it off without slowing her progress, exposing a black cocktail dress underneath that looked very nice from the back. It was fitted, elegant, stopping at the knee and showcasing legs that were—objectively speaking—very nice.
And as soon as she had the raincoat off and tossed onto a chair, that white towel followed suit, the flick of her wrist causing a waterfall of auburn curls to tumble down and settle just beneath her shoulders.
Honestly, I couldn’t look away from her fluid, nonchalant movements. They were so efficient and effortless that I was pretty fucking impressed.
Even as it bugged me.
“Do you know if it’s supposed to keep raining?” she yelled as she left my line of sight and disappeared into my bedroom.
She seems very comfortable in my place.
“I think it’s finished,” I replied, checking email on my phone. “Except for a few sprinkles.”
“Good, because my feet will get soaked in these shoes if it doesn’t,” she said as she came back into the room.
I glanced up and—
Holy shit.
The words spilled out before I could stop them.
“You are stunning,” I said, my eyes drinking in a sight I hadn’t been prepared for.
I’d noticed she was a cute girl, but tonight she was a knockout. The dress was made to show off her curves—nicely done, Edward—but on top of that she had long-lashed brown eyes, full red lips, and exposed shoulders that looked sinfully smooth.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes squinting as she looked at me with a shy smile.
“For a felon,” I added, unable to help myself. I needed to remind both of us of the reality of our situation.
“You’re a very irritating boyfriend, for the record,” she said, her smile disappearing as she grabbed her clutch from the counter. “No one likes when their significant other accuses them of criminal activity. Makes them very hard to love.”
“Noted,” I said, gesturing with an arm toward the door.
“Although maybe you’ve only ever had pretend girlfriends, so you probably don’t know that.”
“Good one,” I said, pulling open the door.
“Thank you,” she said as she exited. “And thank you for all this.” She gestured to herself with both hands and added, “For butterflying my caterpillar.”
I gave a nod instead of responding as I turned to lock the door behind us, because the last thing I needed was to be complimenting her again. We had to make it through the evening, and then she needed to disappear from my life entirely （after milking me for a weeklong stay, of course）。
Nothing else mattered.
“How did you know my size, by the way?” she asked as we walked to the elevator, but before I had a chance to respond, she added, “I mean, even the shoes are the right size, which is mind-blowing since my feet are unusually small. Like weird little middle school feet. Is that your special skill, your circus-freak talent, that you can nail sizes at a glance?”