Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  He stands, walking over to the fridge and grabs another beer. “If you don’t want my help, that’s cool.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for the offer.”

  On his way back to the couch, he pauses by my bag to lift it. I start to say something, but he puts it back down before I can.

  “Have you weighed it already?”

  I nod. “It’s under fifty pounds.”

  As he sits he’s looking at it, not me. He smiles and tips his drink back. I watch his throat move as he swallows. I gulp. He glances over at me. I look away, picking up my soda, and I take a sip.

  He leans back, stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his body facing me. “So, other than the eating stuff, what should I know about you?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  He smirks. “What do you want out of this trip?”

  I look down at my hands and randomly pick at the remnants of my last nail polish job. “I’m—”

  His phone rings, interrupting me. He looks down at the screen before standing. “I have to take this,” he says, walking to the door.

  I’m alone in his apartment. His call is important enough to take in the hallway. The stairwell amplifies his voice. I can almost hear every word he’s saying. I stand, moving over to my suitcase that is closer to the door, to listen in.

  “I’m leaving the keys with Mr. Wiltshire. Yeah, we leave tomorrow morning.”

  There’s a pause, and I hear his footsteps. It sounds like he’s pacing.

  “Some girl.” There’s a pause. “Yeah, she’s never even been outside of the U.S. Hopefully, she won’t slow me down. All I know is that her parents are paying.” Another pause. “She’s probably spoiled.”

  My heart stops. Is he talking about me? I blink away the sting I feel in my eyes. I can’t believe he just said that. He doesn’t even know me. How alone I feel in that moment hits me. I wish I could talk to Ally. She would know what to do. A tear slides down my cheek, and I push it away with the back of my hand.

  With my pale skin, it’s impossible to hide when I cry. My eyes get puffy, and my face gets splotchy. I pull out my toiletry bag, a travel one with a built-in hook to hang on the back of a door. I march over to the door and crack it.

  “Hang on a sec,” he says into the phone.

  “I’m going to take my shower,” I huff. Then, I close the door before he has a chance to respond.

  I don’t need him, I think to myself, taking my toiletry bag and some clothes to sleep in as I head to the bathroom.

  There is a shelf with clean towels in the corner of the bathroom. I grab one and set it on the toilet before I start the shower and hang my bag from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. His bathroom doesn’t have a fan or a window to vent the steam. I quickly undress and step under the spray. I like my showers hot, borderline scalding. It takes a minute to get used to, but then it feels heavenly.

  I use some of Adam’s shampoo, not wanting to waste any of mine. He has plain old Head & Shoulders 2-in-1. His soap is Irish Spring. I lather my washcloth, holding it up to my nose and inhaling before washing myself.

  It feels weird, showering in a boy’s bathroom. I might be more excited about it if I hadn’t just heard him call me spoiled. It still feels fun to touch his things. He has a razor and shaving cream in here. Using my own razor, I borrow some cream to touch up my legs and bikini line. As I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, I wonder more about Adam. Does he ever jerk off in here? It makes me feel warm, just thinking about it.

  I turn off the water and towel off. I pull on an old T-shirt and shorts to sleep in before wrapping the towel around my head. I crack the door to let the steam out, and I jump when Adam pulls it open the rest of the way.

  “Any hot water left?” he asks, batting away some steam in front of him.

  I shrug and reach past him to grab my toothbrush from my bag. He doesn’t move, and my arm grazes his shoulder. He unnerves me. I’m annoyed at myself for still being attracted to him even after hearing what he said about me. Just because he looks good doesn’t mean he’s a nice person.

  I want to seem unaffected, so I pointedly ignore him. I use his toothpaste, not wanting to reach past him again. He leans against the doorframe and watches me brush my teeth. I do it as neatly as possible. Then, I rinse my mouth daintily instead of just spitting like I would if he wasn’t watching me.

  I unwrap the towel from my head and use it to squeeze any excess water I can from my hair. When my hair was long, it was a production to brush, dry, and add leave in conditioner to it. My hair is short enough now that I don’t have to brush it.

  The steam clears from the mirror. I lean forward to part my hair with my fingers, sweeping my long bangs to the side. I didn’t want to be the first to say anything, but I’m running out of things to do, and he’s still just standing there.

  I sigh. “Let me get out of your way.”

  His mouth twitches. There’s a long pause where we’re just standing there, staring at each other, before he nods. I turn and drape my towel over the rod. I grab my dirty clothes, leaving my other things where they are, so I can use them in the morning.

  He steps back to let me pass, but his apartment is so tight that I’m still almost chest-to-chest with him. Part of me wishes I had put on a sports bra. Moving past him without one on leaves me feeling exposed.

  I have an interior travel bag just for socks and undies. I leave my jeans out, deciding I’ll just wear them again tomorrow. The shirt I wore today is fine to be worn again, just on another day. Rule number one in traveling around the world is that clothes can go multiple wears between washes. I refold and pack it. I pull out a simple gray long-sleeved shirt since it’ll probably be cold on the plane. I also have a black scarf in my carry-on that can double as a light mini blanket.

  The breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding escapes when I hear the shower turn on. I sag back against the sofa, noticing that Adam has already put sheets and a blanket on it. The idea of already being in bed and asleep, whether I’m faking it or not, is a welcome one.

  I sit back up and rummage through my bag in search of a bottle of lotion. It’s institutional-sized. My skin is on the dry side normally, and traveling only makes it worse. It’s an old habit to smooth some on after my shower. My mom even found this travel-safe bottle for it from a catalog. The lid resembles a childproof cover from a pill bottle.

  I haven’t gotten the trick down yet to open it without trying a couple of times. Maybe if I hadn’t been fighting with it, I would have noticed that the shower stopped. Instead, as I’m smoothing lotion over my legs, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up with the sensation that I’m being watched.

  I’m sitting on the sofa, and my back is toward the bathroom door. It finally dawns on me that I can’t hear the shower anymore. My body stills. I want to turn my head. I know he is somewhere behind me, but I need to finish rubbing the lotion in, or I run the risk of having goopy legs. So, I ignore him and finish rubbing the lotion on my legs before I put some on my arms.

  I can hear him moving around—a closet door opens, the sound of a drawer, and the rustle of clothes. I’m thankful my back is toward him when I feel my face redden.

  “Why is your neck all red?”

  Shit. Damn fair skin. If my hair were still long, he wouldn’t have been able to see that.

  “It is?” I hedge, turning to face him.

  Damn. My tongue suddenly feels too small for my mouth. I have to resist the urge to let it hang out while I pant.

  Adam, still damp from his shower, is standing by a closet next to the front door. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I’m finding it impossible to not stare at his chest. He’s beautiful. It’s impossible to ignore the definition of his muscles so clear on his lightly tanned skin.

  There’s a ceiling light behind him that catches the tiny beads of water clinging to the tips of his hair, giving him a strange halo. It also makes it hard to see the expression on his face. I watc
h, transfixed, as one bead of water expands and then falls from his hair to the top of his shoulder.

  I don’t even know him, and I want to lick it off of him. I gulp and turn away, fiddling with the cap of my lotion bottle until it is on right. It doesn’t help that my fingers are still slick.

  I stand and pause when I feel light-headed before moving past him to where my bag is. I dump the lotion bottle on top of my bag before moving back to the couch.

  I push the sheet and blanket back. “I’m going to…”

  I gesture to the sofa, and he nods, freeing more tiny beads of water to fall from his hair.

  “I’m setting the alarm for five. The cab will be here at six. That enough time for you?”

  My back is to him, but I can hear him opening the cabinet with his bed. The hinges groan as he slowly lowers it to the ground behind me.

  “Sounds good,” I manage.

  It’s hard to concentrate. From where the cabinet hiding his Murphy bed is to where the couch is, it’s like we’re sharing one large bed with a small gap between them. It would feel less awkward if my head were at the opposite end of the couch, but it’s not.

  The only thing keeping me from being perfectly lined up to him is the small end table between the wall and the couch. Instead of being even with his face if I turned over, I’d probably be level with his abs. It is much safer to sleep with my back to any of that tonight.

  Chapter 8

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to burrow myself under the blanket as a strong hand shakes my shoulder.

  “Five more minutes,” I mumble.

  I hear a chuckle behind me before he says, “No can do,” and he pulls the blanket off of me.

  I reach in vain for it, but he’s too fast, so I cover my face with my arm and try to tuck myself into the back of the couch.

  “C’mon, Aubrey. The cab is going to be here soon.”

  It takes me a moment to remember where I am. I lift my head, turning it to look back at Adam, and I squint at him with one eye. His Murphy bed is already put away, and he’s already dressed, looking too annoyingly put together this early in the morning.

  I turn the rest of the way, sliding my legs out, until they fall off the sofa, and I use my arm to hoist myself up into a sitting position. I’ve never been much of a morning person. It usually takes me some time to fully wake up.

  I blink at him for a minute, and then I yawn, narrowing my eyes at him when I see one corner of his mouth briefly pull up. I’m tired. I don’t feel like amusing anyone. I tilt my head to the side and wince at how stiff it feels. His couch is deep, but I must have slept weird on it anyway.

  I roll my head a couple of times as I rub my neck, too tired to care that he’s watching me. I stand, walking over to my bag to grab my clothes for today, and I head to the bathroom.

  I laugh when I see my reflection. The ribbing from the pillow I used last night has left its mark across my cheek, and my hair seems to be defying gravity on one side as it concaves on the other. I ignore it and change first, feeling more clothed the second I have a bra on.

  Once I’m dressed, I tackle my hair. Deciding to wet it and let it dry all over again is the safest way to go. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I don’t wear much makeup normally, but I swear by tinted moisturizer.

  Once I’m ready, I repack all of my toiletries and walk out. Adam looks surprised that I got ready so fast.

  Ha, I think to myself, remembering last night when he told someone I was spoiled.

  It still bugs me. He doesn’t even know me. I kneel in front of my suitcase and check and then double-check it before wrapping my TSA-approved strap-style lock around it.

  “That’s some lock,” he says, leaning over me.

  I shrug. “My mom found it in some catalog.”

  I flip my backpack over and rummage through it for my watch.

  “Are those solar panels?”

  I glance up at him. “Cool, huh? My mom found it—”

  “In a catalog,” he finishes, one corner of his mouth pulling up.

  I nod. Once I’ve found my watch, I put it on. It’s crazy high-tech. It has time zones, temperatures, multiple alarm settings, and other stuff I haven’t figured out yet. I have the manual to read on the plane. The only problem with it is that it’s huge, dwarfing my wrist. I cover it with the sleeve of my gray shirt and stand.

  “We can grab some breakfast at the café across the street and wait for the cab.”

  I nod, pulling my backpack on before I stand. I reach for my bag, but he pushes my hand away, picking it up himself.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I argue.

  “It’s cool,” he mumbles, motioning with his head for me to go ahead of him.

  I hold the door open for him. He moves past me, setting our bags down on the landing, before locking the door behind us. He pulls an envelope out from the back pocket of his jeans and drops the key in it. Then, he slides the envelope under his neighbor’s door before picking our bags back up and making his way down the stairs.

  I walk behind him, my eyes glued to the ridges of his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt. I’m not paying attention to my feet, and I grab the railing before I stumble into him. When he glances back, I’m innocently inspecting the ceiling molding, purposely avoiding his eyes.

  I take over pulling my suitcase once we’re on the ground floor. He holds the door for me, and then I follow him across the street to a small sidewalk café.

  “What do you want?” he asks, setting his suitcase next to a bistro-style table.

  “You don’t have to buy me breakfast.” I slip my bag off of one shoulder, so I can swing it around in front of me. My wallet is in it.

  He waves his hand. “George will kick my ass if I let you pay.”

  I zip my bag shut and shrug it off before hanging it on the back of my chair. I sit down and look at the chalkboard-style menu on the wall.

  “Can I get a bacon and egg sandwich with an orange juice?”

  He nods, taking off his backpack and setting it on his chair, before going to place our orders. He walks back with two cups a minute later.

  “Not a coffee drinker?” he asks, passing me a cup.

  “I drink coffee, just not every day,” I say before taking a sip of my drink.

  He moves his bag from his chair to the ground and sits. “George will bring the food out in a sec.”

  I look away and take another sip of my juice.

  “Didn’t you say you needed caffeine or a shower to wake up?” he asks, gesturing to my cup.

  I point to my still damp hair. “Sink bath.”

  He nods, and then he turns as a man carrying a tray comes up next to our table.

  “So, this is your travel companion?”

  Adam’s face breaks into a wide grin. I stare at his teeth. He could advertise toothpaste.

  “George, this is Aubrey. Aubrey, this is George. George and I grew up together.”

  I look up and smile at George. He’s on the round side and shorter than Adam, but he seems nice. He sets our food on the table and pulls another chair over to sit with us.

  I’ve just taken a bite when he says to Adam, “You didn’t mention that she’s so pretty.”

  My eyes flick to Adam’s as I try to swallow my bite without choking. His eyes meet mine.

  “That’s because I just met her last night.”

  “Where are you guys heading to first?”

  It’s his friend, so I focus on my sandwich and let him do the talking. George leaves after a minute when his boss shouts for him to get back to work. Adam checks his watch before eating his sandwich in two bites. He washes it down with the rest of his coffee.

  “Hurry up,” he orders, sounding like my dad. “The cab will be here any second.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t say anything as I finish my breakfast. He better not be so bossy the whole trip.

  I’ve just finished when the cab pulls up. He takes our trash and dumps it in a can before wavin
g at the cabbie. I’m putting on my backpack as he grabs both of our suitcases and makes his way back across the street. I give a half wave to George before jogging after Adam. My head is still turned, and I jump when a car honks at me.

  I mouth, Sorry, and dash the rest of the way across the street.

  “Be careful,” Adam snaps when I reach him.

  I step around him and climb into the cab. I pull my bag into my lap and pout. He didn’t need to grouch at me. When he climbs in on the other side, I pointedly look out my window.

  “You kids going to JFK, right?” the cabbie confirms.

  “Yep,” Adam replies.

  My hand is on the seat between us. I shift it closer to the back of the seat and bump into Adam’s hand. I glance down at our hands before I pick mine up and cross my arms, which is dumb because I slide into him at the first turn.

  “God, sorry,” I mumble.

  Adam laughs, pushing me off himself. I hold on to the door handle the rest of the ride.

  Adam pays the cabbie when we get to the airport. I offer, but he just shakes his head. He walks quickly inside, and I struggle to keep up with him. A couple of times, he looks back at me like he’s annoyed.

  “Asshole,” I mumble under my breath before I catch up with him.

  The line to check-in is long, but it moves quickly. I move my suitcase between myself and the pushy lady behind me after she hits the back of my foot twice. It moves me closer to Adam, and the look he gives—like he thinks I’m doing it for him—annoys me.

  When the line moves again, I purposely leave a good-sized gap between us. When Adam walks up to the counter agent, he motions for me to follow him. He puts his hand out for my ticket and passport. I pause before handing them to him, not really sure why I couldn’t have just handed them to the lady myself.

  Once we’re checked in, I have to jog to keep up with him as we head to the security check section. I’m annoyed with him, so I pick a different line than him. He rolls his eyes at me as he takes off his shoes. I mentally will my line to move faster than his, so I can beat him. It doesn’t. In fact, my line takes way longer.

  I avoid his eyes when I walk over to where he’s waiting for me. He doesn’t say anything. He just turns and starts walking toward our gate.