Then don’t, my inner voice yells. I only barely stifle a laugh. He’s done it, he’s won her over.
“Got it?” he asks, standing tall once more. Wait, what? No, he’s not supposed to let me go.
I hug the towel closer as I crash and burn, and insecurities rise unbidden. I bite my lip as I follow him inside.
How do I misconstrue the situation so badly? Is he suffering from indigestion, and I’ve mistaken it for desire? I’m such a noob.
“I’ll change first,” I mumble and head for the bathroom, latching the door behind, then lean against it, my heart shrinking. Will it become two sizes smaller, like the Grinch?
Suck it up, Pell. You misjudged, you won’t die.
Then why does it feel like it?
“You’re hard to resist.” Harpoc’s words linger in my mind. Clearly I’m not.
I shrug out of the one-piece suit, towel off, and slip into the highly suggestive red lacey panties, and white T-shirt and sweats, then brush my teeth and dry my hair.
I take several deep breaths as I brush my hair out. Harpoc nuzzled me as we flew, I swear he did, or was that my imagination, too? How can I be so far off? Am I starved and desperate for affection? These and more questions I ask the redhead looking back at me in the mirror.
I don’t understand men, it’s that simple. They’re so much more complicated than I’ve thought. Or maybe it’s just Harpoc.
I hang up my wet suit above the tub to dry, then summon my courage because we need to decide sleeping arrangements when I emerge from this bathroom. He’s bigger, I’ll take the fold out sofa, and he can have the bed. I nod at my redheaded counterpart, firming my decision, then open the door.
But Harpoc’s beaten me to it. He’s sprawled out on the fold out atop a towel, in all his delicious, olive-skinned beauty, muscles bulging in all the right places, and my heart speeds.
But his feet dangle over the end by a good six inches. He’s not some giant, the sofa bed’s surprisingly short, and I can’t hold back a laugh.
“I’ll take the sofa. It’s fine.”
He sits up, grinning. “Nonsense, you’ll take the bed, I insist.”
I shake my head. “It’s too short for you. Really, I’ll take it.”
His expression turns serious. “Pellucid, you’ll take the bed.”
“The group home workers only used my full name when I really screwed up. Am I in deep doo-doo?” I joke.
He shakes his head, no humor to be found. “That’s a shame.”
“What’s a shame?”
“You have a very pretty name. It suits you.”
He’s complimenting me on my name? I can’t help myself; my stomach flutters despite the mixed signals he’s sending me. People usually assume my name’s some old family one that whoever chose it, did for unknown reasons or no reason at all; no one ever has a clue that it’s actually a word in the dictionary. “You know what it means?”
“Of course,” he says with surprising certainty, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “Pellucid means ‘clear’ or ‘transparent’.” His sureness is weird, like what’s he do? Read the dictionary for fun? But before I can probe, he adds, “That’s you, Pell, you’re not pretentious. I appreciate that.”
Another flutter erupts. I’m so confused. I’ve no idea what to think.
“As for the bed, you’ll take it, I insist,” he adds, running a hand across his bare chest.
“Chivalry’s not dead?” I’d like to run a hand across his chest, too. I barely stifle a giggle, and Harpoc gives me a bemused smile, as if reading my thoughts.
Pell, get a grip.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I blurt, “That fold out’s too small for you, we’ll both sleep on the bed.”
My eyes go wide. OMG did I really just say that?
Harpoc tilts his head.
I backpedal, holding myself. “It’s the only arrangement that makes sense.”
Alarm bells wheeze in my brain. Stop, Pell, just shut up.
Harpoc chuckles. “Ever the practical one, I see.”
Why can’t I spontaneously combust when I really need to?
I draw a hand up to cover my burning cheeks. Damn traitors.
“Let me go change,” he says, standing and mercifully letting me off the hook before I say something more that I’ll regret.
He disappears behind the bathroom door, and I busy myself folding the sofa back up, attempting to make sense of my roiling emotions, but there’s no sense to them, I quickly discover. They are as stirred up as whacking a beehive with a stick, and equally dangerous because I don’t know what I might do or say next.
We’ll be sharing the bed. Eeeeep!
Pell, calm down. Breathe.
I’m calm, I’m calm, I keep repeating it to myself even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I finish folding up the sofa, then hop up on the bed and realize I’ll be too hot if I don’t shed my sweats. But that’ll mean… ahhh.
My heart is beating a thousand miles an hour as I take my own dare and strip down to my bright red undies and white T-shirt, not that I’ll be getting much sleep with Harpoc in bed. I burrow in the soft sheets and draw the duvet up to my waist, then lean back into the pillows as if I’m calm.
Harpoc saunters from the bath a couple minutes later bedecked in sweats. I saw him in that robe before, and I have to say he looks amazing in white, against his olive-toned skin, it makes his dark features even more alluring.
“You cleaned up the room, I see.” He smiles. “You’re very domestic.”
I grin at his use of the line I
