by Gia Riley
“I think maybe you should go to bed, Hollis. It’s late.”
Ignoring my suggestion, he says, “So much better than the girl on TV.”
I should see it coming, but I don’t realize I’m pinned against the counter until I feel the edge dig into my butt.
“What are you doing, Hollis?”
We’re so close; my face is practically buried in his neck. What’s left of his cologne wraps me up like a warm blanket on a cold night.
The tiny kiss he places on the top of my head is sweet, exactly what I’d expect from Hollis if we were together. But we’re not, and that’s why he needs to stop whatever he’s doing.
Since I’m the sober one, I place my hands on his chest and turn my head. “Hollis, you need to go to bed. It’s really late.”
“That’s not what I need,” he says.
I fall right into his trap. “What do you need?”
He gently kisses my cheek and then turns my face, so I have no choice but to look at him. “You,” he whispers.
Before I can tell him he’s mistaken, that it’s just the alcohol talking, he leans in and brushes his lips against mine.
I only get the first syllable of his name out, and then he’s holding my face in his hands, kissing me harder. I don’t know if I’m shocked or just stupid, but I kiss him back for a full second before I realize what the hell is happening—that I’m kissing a drunken Hollis in the kitchen after spending the most perfect night with Wirth.
This isn’t who I am. I’m not this girl. And I’m not about to become her, so I push him away and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I tell him.
“I felt that,” he says.
“Felt what?”
“You kissed me back.”
Shaking my head, I deny it. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Hollis. You’re drunk. And forcing yourself on me is a shitty thing to do.”
He flinches like I slapped him. “I might have had a few drinks, Chandler, but I didn’t force you. I’d never do that.”
He’s right; he didn’t force me into anything. I stood here and let him get too close. And I feel so guilty about it.
“Just please don’t put me in this situation again. Okay?”
“Because you can’t say no.” It’s not a question. It’s a firm statement that grates on my nerves.
Hollis isn’t playing fair. I’m about to lay into him, telling him that we can’t kiss because I’m with Wirth, when he takes a step backward. Holding his stomach, he rushes to the sink where he leans over and throws up. In between heaves, he sucks down some water from the spigot. When he gets it all out of his system, he hangs his head over the sink, and the drunkenness disappears.
His entire tone changes when he says, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
Thank God Wirth’s a sound sleeper. He hasn’t budged since Hollis came home.
I want nothing more than to go back to the couch and snuggle up with him, pretending that the last few minutes never happened. But they did, and I’ll have to come clean about it in the morning.
Hollis walks down the hallway toward his room. I’m torn about what to do. I should run after him, making sure he understands that we don’t have the same feelings for one another. I’m not sure he’d believe me though. Not after what just happened.
I stand in the kitchen for a few more minutes until I’m sure Hollis is in bed. And then I hurry to my room—as far away from both Wirth and Hollis as I can be. We might share some walls, but I need some space. Because, since I’ve met them, I’ve been suffocating in charm and good looks.
I’m just getting settled under the covers when a shadow inches into my room. “Hollis, you need to leave.”
He takes a couple of steps closer, and once I see his face, I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel so good,” he says.
I hesitate, wondering if this is a trap. But he’s sweating. And he’s pale.
“Let me feel your head.”
He bends over, and I press my palm against his skin. He’s burning up.
“Go get in bed,” I tell him. “I have a thermometer. I’ll bring it over.”
He shuffles back toward the hallway, and though I already feel guilty, I climb out of bed, forcing myself to let go of my anger and frustration. Hollis needs me.
It takes me a few minutes to dig the thermometer out of my luggage.
When I finally get to Hollis, he’s almost asleep. His teeth are chattering as I run the scanner across his forehead. The screen lights up red, and the device gives a series of warning beeps.
“One hundred two point four. You’re definitely sick, Hollis.”
“You just now figured that out?” he asks.
“I thought you were just drunk.” I smelled the liquor on him. I figured he had drunk too much and had an upset stomach.
“I can hold my liquor, Chandler.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Though weak and tired, Hollis sits up. He forces himself to swallow a couple of times. His throat must feel like sandpaper.
When he groans and then grabs his stomach, I lunge for the trash can, shoving it against his chest. Thank goodness there’s a plastic bag inside because Hollis barfs two more times before he passes out on a sweaty pillowcase.
Once I’m sure he’s out cold, I leave. But, halfway to my room, I panic. What if he gets sick in his sleep and chokes? Or worse, what if he has a seizure from the fever?
Without another thought, I turn around and curl up at the end of Hollis’s bed, just in case.
So much for that space I so desperately needed.
Wirth
The alarm from my cell vibrates against my leg, jolting me awake. Peeling my eyes open, I silence it. Even though it feels like I was only asleep for an hour or two, the sun is already shining through the curtains.
Glancing around the living room, I wonder how long Chandler stayed before she got up and went to bed. I guess I was hoping she’d still be next to me when I woke up.
I decide waking her up in her bed could be just as fun. Her room’s empty though, and after I check the bathroom and double-check that I didn’t miss her in the kitchen, I’m more than a little shocked to find her in bed, next to Hollis.
For five long minutes, I stand there, waiting for her to wake up, wondering how she got there in the first place.
Maybe she sleepwalks.
But, when she opens her eyes and sits up, she’s not at all shocked about who’s lying next to her. In fact, she presses her hand against Hollis’s head, feels his cheeks, and then hops out of bed.
I’m not sure what to make of it until she runs a thermometer across his forehead like a little nurse. Then, she ties up the plastic bag in his trash can. The realization that it’s probably puke-filled zaps all the anger from my body.
Chandler doesn’t realize I’ve been watching her until she turns around. She takes two quick, stuttered steps and then shyly looks at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I have no clue why she’s apologizing, especially when she gave up her own bed to sleep next to someone who’s sick. And who knows what time Hollis got home? I never heard him come in, but that must’ve been what got Chandler up off the couch in the first place.
“I’m not mad, Chan.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Hollis hears us talking and sits up. He takes one look at me and then flops back down on the bed, throwing the blanket over his face. He sounds like he swallowed rocks when he says, “I’m trying to sleep here.”
I’m guessing he’s staying home today, so I pull Chandler into the hallway and close his door behind us.
She slips on some shoes and runs the bag of grossness down to the trash chute. When she comes back, I get a good look at her, and she looks even more exhausted than she did after rehearsal last night.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“A little,” she says. “I’ll be fine afte
r a shower. But you don’t have to wait for me. I know the way now.”
A few days in the city, and she’s already Miss Independent. Considering how clingy Shannon was, it’s refreshing as hell.
“I know I don’t have to wait, but I want to.”
She nods, but before she can walk away, I grab her hand.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing. I just want to hug my girl.”
“I’m gross. Let me shower first.”
Shaking my head, I pull her against me. “I can’t wait that long.”
Chandler must agree because she wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek against my chest. She’s so small that I can rest my chin on top of her head. We fit together perfectly.
“We’re gonna be late, Wirth.”
We aren’t. There’s plenty of time before we have to leave.
“Give me a kiss, and then you can go shower.”
She slides out from under me so fast that I’m hugging air.
“Where are you going?”
“I didn’t brush my teeth yet,” she says as she walks backward toward the bathroom, so I can’t stare at her ass.
“You think I give a shit about your breath?”
“Just give me ten minutes,” she says.
I don’t have a chance to argue because, as soon as the bathroom door closes, my cell lights up with a text from my sister, making the morning even more interesting.
Maisie: Shannon called. She knows you’re in NY.
Wirth: Did you talk to her?
Maisie: Hell no. She rattled off a bunch of shit to my voice mail. She’s still a hot mess.
Wirth. Great. Thanks.
Maisie: Just deal with her. Then, it’s done and over with.
Fuck.
My sister’s right. I need to cut ties once and for all, but Shannon’s the last person I want to deal with right now. And I’m not sure I can handle everything before Chandler needs to leave for work. I can be a little late, but she can’t. Even a minute late, and Ms. Sue will write her up. She’s a fair woman, but she’s strict with her dancers, especially the new ones.
I decide to deal with as much as I can and dial Shannon’s number. It’ll be better than nothing. But I’m not sure which version of Shannon I’ll get. Because, if she’s making calls this early in the morning, that means she was in the bar all night and hasn’t gone to bed yet. Most likely, she’s still drunk.
It only rings once before Shannon picks up. For a second, I debate on throwing the phone out the fucking window; that’s how much I don’t want to do this.
“Wirth? Are you there?”
I stare at the timer on the call, watching the seconds add up. I can’t decide if I want to hang up or not.
“Wirth?” she says again.
If I don’t say something soon, she’ll hang up and call right back, assuming we had a bad connection.
God, this fucking sucks.
I should be trying to sneak into the shower with Chandler, not calling my ex-girlfriend.
“Hey, Shannon.”
“Are you on your way home?” she asks, throwing me for a loop. She’s obviously still delusional.
“I already am home, Shannon.”
Knowing her, she’s looking out the window, expecting me to walk through the door.
A few seconds later, she sniffles, and I swear, if she breaks out the waterworks, I’m hanging up.
“I miss you, Wirth. It’s not the same without you.”
“You mean, you’re not making any money without me, right?”
“It was never about the money. All I wanted was for you to succeed.”
That’s probably the biggest lie she’s ever told me. It was always about the money. Even before I agreed to work with her, she’d had her sights set on other targets. But then I had a couple of successful shows, and suddenly, my name could put dollar signs in her bank account. All the other prospects were forgotten, and if things had gone like she hoped, she’d be set.
So, if you think about it, we were nothing more than a deal—a business transaction that she planned to live off of for the rest of her life.
“Why’d you call my sister, Shannon?”
“To find out where you were. And when you’re coming back.”
“You know I’m not coming back.”
“Why?” she has the audacity to ask.
“Because I want nothing to do with you or your business.”
“But we have a contract.”
I knew she’d try to play that card. “As far as I’m concerned, the contract’s null and void, Shannon. If you try to tell me otherwise, I’ll take you to court. There isn’t a judge this side of the Mississippi that’ll take your side over mine.”
“I know,” she says.
That’s not the response I was expecting. The fact that she’s given up so easily means she’s up to something. I’m just not sure what, and I’m too afraid to ask.
“I’m glad we agree on that.”
“See, we’re good together, baby. Come back.”
“I’m not your baby,” I tell her.
She huffs in my ear, and I swear, I can feel her breath.
“Wirth, come on. You miss me. Right?”
“No,” I easily tell her.
“Wirth.”
There’s a light tap on my door, and Chandler sticks her head inside. “I’m ready when you are,” she says.
Holding up a finger, I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s only been twenty minutes since Chandler got in the shower. There’s no way she’s eaten.
I hold the phone against my chest, so Shannon can’t hear me. “Did you have breakfast?”
She shakes her head. “I thought maybe we could grab something from the bagel shop on the corner. But, if you’re busy, my smoothie will be more than enough.”
“No, I’m coming,” I tell her.
She closes my door, and I tell Shannon, “I have to go.”
“Who was that?” she asks. “Are you seeing someone already?”
I’m not sure if she heard Chandler’s voice or if she’s just being nosy, but either way, it’s none of her business. “That was my roommate.”
I’ve told her about Hollis and Tom. Hollis even visited me once in Nashville. But there’s no reason to tell Shannon that my living arrangements have changed. The last thing I’d ever do is put Chandler’s name in her head.
“Okay. I’ll let you go then.”
She’s too agreeable. Too unlike herself. I can’t tell if she’s being nice to get me back or if she’s over being a drama queen. I’m guessing it’s the first.
“Bye, Shannon.”
“Wirth, wait.”
“What?”
“Just think about it. Okay? I miss you.”
“Shannon,” I say with a sigh.
Why can’t I just tell her off once and for all? Say something so powerful that she’d never dial my number again?
Because Mom taught you to respect women, even when they do you wrong.
“I really have to go, Shannon. Please don’t call me again.”
This time, I don’t give her a chance to respond. Ending the call, I stuff my phone in my pocket and grab my coat off the back of my door.
I find Chandler in the living room, sipping on her green sludge, waiting for me. She looks a little more awake than she did before her shower, but I’m still worried about her making it through the day on barely any sleep.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.
She honestly has no idea.
“I’m fine, Wirth.”
“Yes, you are,” I tell her as I pull her up off the arm of the sofa.
Dressed in her usual layer of sweats and a wool hat with a goofy pom-pom on top, she looks like a little Eskimo.
“Warm enough?”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to New York winters. It’s so much colder here than Nashville.”
She’s right about that.
“Why aren’t we
leaving?” she questions as I stand with one hand on the doorknob.
“I’m waiting for my kiss.”
She stands on her tiptoes and gives me a little peck on the lips, pulling away faster than I’d like.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to leave anytime soon.”
I’m being playful, but she looks at her sneakers like she did something wrong. I don’t like it, and I make a mental note to ask about her last relationship. We’ve sort of covered mine, but I have no idea what kind of guy she was with. If I had to guess, he didn’t treat her right.
Nudging her, I bend down and smile. “I’m just kidding, Chan.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again. Confusing me even more.
“Stop apologizing. I’m the idiot.”
When I open the door, she takes a deep breath and hurries toward the stairs.
“Are you sure you feel okay, Chandler?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
I file behind her, letting her lead the way. “I just hope you don’t catch what Hollis has.”
She pauses on the last step and then shakes her head. “I won’t.”
Chandler has a lot to learn in a relatively short amount of time. If she wants to be ready for opening night, there’s no way she can afford to miss a rehearsal. We both know that, but if she’s sick, she’s sick.
“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you.”
She’s quiet the rest of the way to the bagel shop. And, when I ask her what she wants, she’s no longer hungry. I decide to grab something for myself, but when I come back outside, she’s gone.
A few seconds later, I get a text.
Chandler: I had to pee.
Laughing, I decide it’s just day-two nerves—that she’s being quiet and reserved because she’s nervous. We all process stress differently. But, if something is bothering Chandler, I plan on getting it out of her tonight.
Chandler
I’m such a chickenshit. Wirth deserves the truth from me, and I had every intention of telling him on the way to the bagel shop this morning. That was the point of stopping for breakfast—so that I’d be out of the apartment and far away from Hollis. At least then, if Wirth got mad, Hollis wouldn’t get punched. And, if Wirth wasn’t mad and took it well, then we’d get to enjoy an early morning breakfast together.
