Page 16 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
Bruised, Naked and Tangled
Behraz
Leave it to me to ruin a practically perfect date.
Fletcher held my hand. I got splattered with sludge, but still. He held my hand. And it made me so nervous, my stomach couldn’t handle it. I almost soil myself before booking it to the washroom and nearly destroy the toilet.
A steamy shower does wash away the grime and relaxes me a bit, but when I turn off the water and slide open the glass, this particular shit smells so awful, I need to close the toilet lid.
My two left feet slip when I lean over to do so, and I fall right out of the tub.
In a split second, one knee lands on the shower door’s track, the other knee hitting the drying mat as my shoulder slams into the glass edge of the shower panel.
My elbow hits the toilet seat while trying to reach for anything that will stabilize me.
Instead, what I grab is the flush handle, and the toilet water swirls down what’s left of my dignity as my head slaps against the back wall, dangerously close to the toilet brush handle sticking out of its holder.
That’s gonna leave a mark.
I’m bruised, naked, and tangled, but manage to pull the towel from the bar across the shower door. I wait a few minutes to stand on my own, but ultimately give up. There’s no way he didn’t hear that. “Fletcher?”
A knock raps on the door. “You okay?”
“Not exactly.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my dignity. And other things.”
“Is it okay if I unlock it?”
“Yes. No, wait!” I warn. “I’m not wearing anything. Keep your eyes closed.”
The door swings open, and Fletcher blindly walks in with his arms extended in front of him, feeling out the air. “How am I supposed to help you if I can’t see you?” He peeks through one eye at my curled form by the toilet.
I clutch the corner of the terry cloth, hoping it covers enough of me.
“Oh, Bea.”
Somehow, he simultaneously wraps me in the towel and picks me up until I’m sitting on the toilet lid. I rub the sore spot on my forehead.
Fletcher inspects it with a grimace. “That might leave a bump.”
My hands tighten around the overlapping flaps of the towel wrapped around my chest.
His throat swallows audibly. “Do you…do you have any clothes in here?”
“There’s a shirt on the back of the door.”
He grabs it and slips it over my head without looking, helping my arms through the sleeves.
Then he blinks three times. “That’s my jersey.”
“Yeah.”
Don’t make a big deal of it. He’ll think you’re a weirdo. But you are a weirdo.
“Do you mind? I need to put on…something under this.”
Flustered and red, he exits the washroom.
I slip on a pair of soft pajama shorts and hang up the towel, using the sink for support before reopening the door.
Fletcher waits at the foot of my bed. “You wear my jersey?”
“Why the face? I happen to think I look pretty good in it, don’t you?” I hobble and pivot on the leg that hurts less, turning to show him the back. “Do you like it?”
“More than I should.”
“What does that mean?”
Maybe I have a concussion.
“Nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You should probably take it easy.”
“ Um , yeah, probably.”
“Okay, well. Good night.”
“Good night.” My ass drops to the mattress.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
I laze in bed and replay the end of the evening a dozen times early the next morning before grabbing my phone.
Me
I had a great time last night
Dreamboat
I did too
Me
It was looking dicey for a second with the washroom snafu
Me
Thanks for rescuing me
I send him a GIF of Olive Oyl swooning with the caption, “ My hero! ”
Me
Congrats on a successful first date for both of us
A soft ding peals out beyond my door. Is he in the living room? I slink down from the mattress and tiptoe to the door, pressing an ear to it. No movement. Seems like the coast is clear. The door opens with a creak. Fletch sits on the couch facing my bedroom door.
“Oh, morning.”
“Morning.”
My cautious steps quicken as I near him, overeager to spill my heart out, but he beats me to it.
“I have to tell you something.”
Heart thumping in my throat, I murmur, “Yeah?”
“Last night…holding your hand. It felt…”
“…Right?” I finish the sentence for him, hoping he agrees and that I didn’t imagine it all.
He puffs out a breath, relieved. “Yeah, it felt right. It felt safe.”
I pinch back a smile. “It felt like that for me, too.”
Fletcher surges with a blush, and I’m on top of the world.
“So, I know it’s against the date idea jar rules,” I begin, “but if I finish my practice questions today, wanna go wildflower picking?”
“Can we hold hands again? F-for practice.”
“Sure, Fletcher. We can practice.”
If Fletcher Donovan asked me to sleep on the highway, I’d agree with a smile. This silly, bashful man is going to ruin me.