Page 38 of Head Under Water

He ducks his head, hand on the back of his neck. “Good night.”

I blink and his back is to me. I stand there for a second after his door shuts. My fingers trail upward to the space where his hands were before, to the exact spot on my ribs where I swear I can still feel his warmth.

As impossible as this entire night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

PRESENT DAY

When I get out of the bath, the scent of something cooking hits my nose. He must be making dinner for her, whoever she is.

My stomach growls.

I hadn’t noticed I was so hungry until this moment.

I run a brush through my hair, following it with a few drops of oil before smoothing lotion over my skin. As I work, I’m thinking of what I’ll order for my birthday meal. Once I’m finished, I dress in sweatpants and a T-shirt and straighten my shoulders in the mirror.

Part of me is terrified to face Will and his mystery date, convinced he’ll read the guilt all over my face. Another smaller part of me knows I did nothing wrong. And, to be fair, he didn’t do anything wrong either.

It was just an awkward moment. I have no reason to be mad, or to feel weird. It’s just another day to him. I barely acknowledged his birthday the week I moved in, just a quick text from behind my bedroom door the morning of. I don’t expect him to drop all his plans for me today. He’s allowed to do what he wants, especially in his own home.

And speaking of that…

I flop down on the bed, scrolling through the real estate sites I’ve been watching for possible rentals. I never meant to be here this long, and this is exactly why.

He’s exactly why.

We’re both adults. I can move past it. He doesn’t ever have to know.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away. Then I end up searching for food options online instead.

My phone buzzes with a text message, interrupting my scroll.

Any chance you’re going by Greg’s on your way home?

The local supermarket.

I stare at the text from Will. My skin crawls over the way he called this place home. He keeps doing that. Like it’s ours.

It’s not home. Not for me.

Also, he doesn’t know I’m here.

Relief washes through my veins. Then…mischief lights in my chest. We don’t have to talk about it, but I can try to make this uncomfortable for him while he wonders if I heard him.

I open the message.

I’m already here.

The clattering in the kitchen stops at once, the apartment falling silent like something caught in mid-motion.

An action scene paused.

Then careful, cautious footsteps move toward my room. He turns the knob slowly and pushes it open, locking eyes with me. His cheeks are pinker than I’ve ever seen them. From the heat of the kitchen? Or is that embarrassment?

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Will embarrassed.

And why would he be? He’s far too big-headed for that. I expected discomfort, maybe. But really, I’d think he’d be downright cocky.