“And good morning to you, Phoebe.” Deiss’s voice is gruff with sleep, but his body isn’t stiff with it. Smoothly, he turns toward me, wrapping warm fingers around my wrist and lifting my hand from the impressive ladder of abs they’re spanning.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as he places my hand gently on my own stomach before pulling himself into a sitting position. His legs slide out from under mine, separating our bodies completely. The whole extraction is performed with the practiced hand of a dispassionate surgeon.
“You know Liv doesn’t like messes,” Phoebe says. “If you pull a dice on her, she’s going to end up running away from all of us. And who will keep us in line then? We’ll all be out of control.”
I rub the sleep out of my eyes, but it doesn’t go away. I’ve heard of jet lag, but I never dreamed it would feel so tangible. It’s like a thick wool blanket weighing down not only my body but my head, too. Even my fingers feel heavy and useless.
Phoebe, on the other hand, looks wide awake. She’s wearing a navy-and-white-striped top and a pair of white shorts with boat shoes. It would look annoyingly preppy if it weren’t for her glorious Afro and slew of accessories. As it is, it looks quirky and stylish. I’d like to re-create her image in illustrated form and attach it to a logo for a yachting company.
“We’re supposed to play dice?” I ask, trying to catch up.
“No,” Phoebe says. “He’s going to pull a Deiss. You know how he is. He can’t help himself.”
“This sounds like it’s going to be offensive.” Deiss’s mouth curls with amusement.
I force my eyes away. We’re in bed together. I have no makeup on, and my hair probably looks ridiculous. Worse, Deiss has had to peel me off of him like I’m some stray cat that snuck in during the night. This is more embarrassing than him seeing me yesterday, unshowered and covered in plane filth. It’s more embarrassing even than the time we stayed up partying all night at Phoebe’s and I awoke on her floor to find a green Jolly Rancher stuck to my cheek. No wonder Deiss was so sure he wouldn’t be tempted to cop a feel. I pull the sheet up to my neck and subtly begin to scoot toward the opposite side of the bed.
“No offense intended,” Phoebe said, coming toward us. “It’s not like you mean to be infuriating. If you were capable of giving women more, I’m sure you would.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Deiss says. “As long as it’s my incompetence that’s the problem and not anything hurtful.”
“Exactly.” Phoebe settles on the bed beside me and leans over, smothering me in a hug. “You’re here! Please know that I don’t blame you at all for giving in to Deiss now that he’s all shaven and sex-panther-y. It’s one hundred percent his fault for unleashing himself on womankind.”
Her hair smells like coconuts, and I breathe it in, savoring her closeness. I’ve long suspected there’s something about me that gives off a warning signal. A kind of Do Not Touch sign that people seem scared to disobey. Like Mac, though, Phoebe doesn’t adhere to it. She never has. She’s always treated me as if I belong to her in some small way. I like it. It’s nice to be claimed by someone.
“I missed you,” I say, squeezing her back.
“Interesting,” Deiss says. “I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that the Ice Queen had no emotional response to seeing me. I let her stay in my bed and didn’t even get a hug for my generosity.”
I look up at the reminder. “You were supposed to separate them.”
“And you weren’t supposed to pass out on them before I had the chance.”
“Wait,” Phoebe says. “Are you saying you didn’t sleep together?”
“No need to sound so relieved,” Deiss says. “I’ve never had any negative reviews before.”
“He’s probably never stayed around long enough to receive feedback,” I say to Phoebe.
“You should go,” Deiss says to Phoebe. “She was much more pleasant before you arrived.”
“I was so tired yesterday my brain was barely functioning,” I say, despite the fact that today is not much better. I’ve traded exhaustion for haze. “That wasn’t so much pleasantness as stupidity.”
“Actually,” Deiss says, “I was referring to the cuddling this morning.”
I roll my eyes, hoping Phoebe’s groan distracts from the redness I can feel creeping into my cheeks. While my eyes can be counted on to hide any emotion, my skin isn’t always as accommodating.