"I didn't think so." I heard the front door swing open and then shut, and I froze, suddenly nervous. Bryce was home. When next I spoke, I did so in a whisper. "What should I say to him?"
I didn't often turn to her for advice, so Felicity looked pleased with herself. "You could start with hello."
I groaned. "No, I mean about --"
"Nothing," she interjected. "Mentioning the act itself will only make things even more awkward. You say nothing. Forget it even happened." Easier said than done. I'd been trying to forget it all day.
"But what do I say? He's going to want to talk about it."
"Well then, make your mind up quick. Stay or leave. If you chose to stay, act like you hadn't given the sex a second thought. It was no big deal. It was fun."
"And if I decide I can't stay?"
She looked annoyed. "What do you want, a script? Tell him the truth."
Felicity blew me a kiss and disconnected the call. I gave myself a few seconds to primp before slipping out into the hallway to greet Bryce. The downstairs was quiet, and for a moment, I thought I had imagined the sound of the front door closing. Perhaps Bryce hadn't returned after all. I was surprised by the comfort that idea provided. Then I saw his boots by the doorway, so I called his name.
"In here," his reply came crisp and clear and to my left. I followed the sound of his voice to the mudroom off the foyer.
Bryce was shirtless, with his back to the door when I entered the room. I leaned against the doorframe and watched the sinewy muscles in his back and shoulders as he reached for the high shelf above the utility sink. While grabbing an orange jug of detergent, he knocked over a small stack of rags and immediately bent over to gather them. I stifled a groaned. It was not in my best interest to watch Bryce bend. Those tight, faded jeans and that perfectly shaped butt had a way of making me lose the ability to breathe.
"Doing some laundry?" I managed to speak and then cringed at how stupid an observation that was. Clearly, he was doing laundry. Why else would he need detergent?
And then I smelled it. A potent, rancid, fishy odour and I wondered how I hadn't noticed the putrid scent the moment I'd entered the room. It stimulated my gag reflex, and for a moment, I was sure I was going to vomit. I crinkled my nose and made a retching sound in my throat. Bryce smiled at my reaction, calm and friendly like he was unscathed by the air around us.
"I enjoy fishing, but I can't stand the smell," he said, pouring a capful of detergent into the washing machine. "The stank has a way of baking into the fabric if you don't launder it right away."
"It's awful," I agreed, holding my hand over my nose and mouth.
He grinned, unbuttoning his jeans. I tried not to stare while he stepped out of them. It was impossible. He stood only in black boxer shorts - which was enough to warm the insides of my stomach. He threw his jeans in the wash with his shirt, and I wondered if the shorts were going to follow. I hoped they would.
He knew I was watching him, and he smiled again, knowingly. "Enjoying the view?"
I averted my eyes. "Sorry, I didn't even realize." I regretted it as soon as the words were said. Pretending I hadn’t noticed that he was naked except for his tight cotton shorts didn't make me seem innocent; it made me sound crazy. Bryce raised an eyebrow, and the pit in my stomach told me that he was thinking the same thing. I tried to salvage it. "I mean, I did notice - but I didn't care." Parker, you idiot, that wasn't much better. I found it suddenly quite warm. I fanned myself as I stumbled over my words once more. "I mean, I didn't think you'd care, since I've already seen you naked."
Jesus, so much for not bringing it up, I had lasted two minutes.
His eyes narrowed in my direction, and I could practically see question marks circling him. "Are you feeling ok?" He asked.
"Fine," I shrugged. "Never been better." Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?
"Never been better?" He repeated. He was no longer smiling, and I could tell he wasn't buying the bullshit spewing from my mouth. I was sure it was more unpleasant to him than the fish that still poisoned the air around us. He pushed past me. The feeling of his near-naked flesh brushing against me as he passed through the tiny doorway, made me tingle. I rolled my eyes at my stupidity before trailing him out of the room.
I followed him into the kitchen while my mind raced to decide what to say next. "I mean, I'm not fine. I'm still upset about last night. But I've given it some thought, and I realize you're probably right." He took two rock glasses down from a cupboard and placed them on the island between us. "You and I have the potential to be great friends. It would be silly to let sex ruin that." He sauntered to the liquor cabinet. "I mean, it was fun - it was really fun - but I'm only here for a short while." He retrieved a half-empty bottle of scotch. "So even if we do like each other – which I'm not saying we do -- it could never turn into anything." Returning to the island, he poured each glass three-quarters full. "When I leave in a few days, who knows if we'll even see each other again." My mind was screaming at my mouth to shut up, but I couldn't stop myself. "And then, of course, there's our families to consider. Can you imagine how Lauren would take this? Oh. My. God. She would die." He looked at me. "Well, not DIE - not like my mother -"
Shut Up. Shut up. SHUT UP!
He slid one of the glasses across to me.
"Drink it."
On his command and without thought, I picked up the glass and shot it down. I felt immediately winded, and I struggled to catch my breath between coughs. I patted my chest and waited for the burning in my esophagus to stop.
"Are you finished?" I knew he wasn't referring to my choking fit.
"I don't know." It was the truth. I was nervous, and when I was nervous, my rambling took on a life of its own. Any moment I could have started up again. I grabbed the second glass of scotch and downed that one too. For no other reason except to keep me from spinning off into another tangent. This time I braced myself for the fiery liquid. It still burned but didn't wind me.
He grabbed the empty glass and refilled it. Before I could grab that one too, he put it to his lips and sipped it, slowly, the way scotch should be enjoyed. Glass still in hand, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. "When you're ready, we'll start this conversation again."
I squashed the instinct to babble again and stabbed my nails into my palm to keep me grounded. Shit. This is why you're single, I told myself. Underneath all your drive and success, you're bat-shit crazy.
He took a breath, "Are you ok now?"
I nodded.
"So, what were you rambling about? I stopped listening to you somewhere between 'never been better' and 'dead mother.'"
"I'm sorry. After last night, being around you makes me a little nervous."
Bryce took another sip of scotch. "Nervous? Why?"
"Why do you think?" I tried not to roll my eyes. "We crossed a line last night, and as much as you may regret it, it doesn't change what happened." His face gave no reaction. "I don't know what's going on between us. I don't know what to say or how to act around you anymore."