It’s big—this thing that’s going on here. Momentous, even. And without taking any time to process it or talk it out, I’m afraid Remy is missing that. I mean, after dinner, he ran to his place to grab some stuff and came back here, to my place, to stay the night again.
There’s a whole boatload of things happening around us, and we’re going to have to face them head on at some point…right?
Shaking my head, I grab the moisturizer jar from my nightstand and head across the room toward my door, bound for the living room, but the sound of Remy’s phone buzzing on the bedside table makes me pause.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t. It’s an invasion of privacy and beyond none of my business. But it’s also going on nearly eleven p.m., and the devil on my shoulder likes to think she knows what that means.
Listening briefly to the sound of the shower still going, I tiptoe over to his nightstand and pause, hovering there above the now dark-screened phone.
Don’t do it, Maria. Don’t do it, don’t do—
Bing.
Just like that, another message rolls in, lighting up the screen and stacking itself on top of the other notification. The sender of both of them? A single letter. “C.”
I run away from the phone like it’s the freaking sun and if I stare at it too long I’ll go blind, and I don’t slow down until I’m in the living room, plopped on the couch and breathing heavily from the small bout of exercise.
Why, why, why did I do that to myself?
Sometimes it’s genuinely better not to know. Plus, now I feel all clammy and my heart is racing, and it’s all because of something I know nothing about. Sure, the letter C does happen to be the first letter of his ex-fiancée’s name, but it’s the first letter of a lot of things, for Pete’s sake. It could be his…cook. Or cleaner. Or counselor. Or courier. His fucking chemist, I don’t know. But it could be a lot of things, and as an over forty-year-old woman, I refuse to let myself spiral out of control over something that’s most likely nothing.
Over something that’s not necessarily my business either. Remy is an adult man, and despite my momentary lapse in judgment, I’m an adult woman who understands that I’m privy to whatever information he wants me to be privy to.
Not a teenage girl who is doing weird shit to try to avoid her insecurities.
Irritated with myself, I open my jar of moisturizer and do both my hands and feet.
I even get up to check on our new aquatic roomies that are currently swimming around in the fishbowl Remy and I picked up on our way home from dinner. Both goldfish appear content in their little home, and I drop a few pellets of food into the water.
But eventually, I know I need to face what I’m currently avoiding and make a resolution with myself.
I’m going to confront my feelings and questions and insecurities head on. Sex isn’t something to be avoided—especially not when it’s as good as the sex with Remy.
Standing from the couch in one smooth motion, I pad my way back to the bedroom at a walk. I am calm. I am collected. I am a cucumber. I might as well be the C on his phone at this point.
My sister’s picture in the hallway stops me briefly, and it’s eerily like she’s watching me. Her smile is knowing, and her eyes are alight. She wants me to know she’s proud of me. I can’t describe exactly how I know, but I can feel it.
My nose stings, and I swallow hard. Sometimes it’s overbearing how much I miss her. With a shake of my head and a whispered I love you, I continue down the hall to my bedroom and push gently on the half-closed door.
Remy is out of the shower now, sitting bare-chested in bed, and his black reader glasses are perched on his nose as he scrolls through his phone. His head comes up at the sound of the door, but as soon as he sees me, he puts the phone on the bedside table and pats the spot on the bed next to him with a smile. “Come join me.”
I cross the room, stripping off my robe to reveal a simple silk slip nightie and climb into bed next to him. Remy watches me, but the part of me that’s still freaking out about all of this shit doesn’t dare let me look at him. Instead, I turn into an outright coward, reaching for my lamp and clicking it off, and shortly after, he does the same.
The darkness and silence are so potent, I only make it a second and a half before reaching back to my lamp and clicking it back on.
Remy is staring right at me, a half smirk on his handsome face when I turn around. “Yes?” he prompts, his deep, rich voice going up an octave at the end. It’s the lilt of teasing, but I don’t have the cool, calm cucumber thing going on anymore. Suddenly, I am a spicy pepper, and I need to know what’s going on right now.