Page 29

Shouts and squeals ring out from the kitchen, making me wonder what we’re missing out on. Something scratches the door, and when Decker opens it, it’s an alarmed Princess.

“No one can get any decent sleep here. I’m already up too late.” I cross my arms and cock my hip. This was not part of the plan. This was not in our guidelines. We never discussed a sleepover.

Princess waltzes over and licks my leg. My puke-covered leg. I back away in an attempt to save Princess from herself and to keep from hurling myself.

Decker frowns like I’ve just slapped him across the face.

I throw an arm in the dog’s direction. “I’m not rejecting Princess. She’s licking my legs!”

A strangled sound of disgust squeaks from his throat. As horrified as I am by the vomit and the dog and everything else, I have to hold back a laugh. Decker grimaces and scoops Princess up like she’s not fifty-plus pounds, depositing her in the bathroom and shutting the door.

More screams echo from the kitchen as heavy bass rattles the walls.

“Lena, it’s late. You need to sleep. Joss is already asleep.

Princess isn’t having fun.” He runs a hand through his dark hair.

“I’m not even at my own party. Just stay the night, go to your fitting in the morning, your recording session in the afternoon.

I’ll make sure Joss makes it home safe. Or she can leave when you do. Whatever.”

I hesitate, but I know he’s right, regardless of how much it stirs the nervous little butterflies in my stomach.

What’s the point in going home when all I’m doing is losing more sleep?

If I’m ever going to nail this rerecording in the “new direction” it’s supposed to be going in, I need to at the very least be rested.

That and actually want to rerecord the whole thing, but the latter isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“Fine,” I agree.

A smile splits his face. “There are towels in the bathroom closet. You can use anything in there you want. Should be a pack of new toothbrushes under the sink.” He points across the room.

“My shirts are in the dresser. Shorts, boxers, all that. Take what you want. Now go wash that barf off. I’ll be right back. ”

He doesn’t wait for me to protest, just disappears into the hall. A minute later the blaring music silences, the yells become murmurs, and eventually—as I finally duck into the bathroom and free Princess—there’s not a sound coming from the party at all. He’s killed it.

I debate not washing my hair, but once the warm water is pouring over my back, it feels too good not to scrub every inch of my body.

It’s been a long day, and the filth Joss so kindly spilled across my calves has left me feeling a little more than disgusting.

Decker has an impressive collection in his shower.

Shampoo and conditioner—none of that two-in-one stuff that’s targeted at unsuspecting men.

No wonder his hair is always so nice—as well as face washes, scrubs, and three types of body wash to choose from.

Sure, I’ll smell like a dude after this, but I’ve smelled Decker.

My mind flashes back to yesterday, a warmth spreading through my belly as I remember the feel of him under me during our little photo shoot.

Decker smells good , and anything smells better than Joss's stomach contents.

I step out of the shower and follow his directions to locate all the hygiene products I’ll need.

Rummaging through a cabinet, I find a bottle of expensive moisturizer and slather it across my face.

At least he has good taste. In the mirror, I check to make sure every inch of me is covered as I rewrap my towel and prepare to go back out there, not knowing what I’ll find.

My eyes catch on the drawer. The one I discovered the first time I visited this place.

Immediately, all the sweet and soft moments that had accumulated throughout the last couple of days together explode on impact.

His souvenir drawer. It gnaws at me still. Why does he have it? Why do I care?

As I wring out my hair one more time over the sink, I try to convince myself this drawer is proof that Decker is no different from any other guy.

That he’s as bad as Callum, a cheater. Something wedges itself into that notion, placing distance between the two of them.

The guilt follows. For a moment, I feel almost shameful for comparing them.

The past few days, Decker has been nothing but sweet to me.

Even at our highest peaks, the terrain that made up my relationship with Callum was bumpy to say the least. I made excuse after excuse for him, always trying to see the good.

Always hanging onto those sweet moments.

Moments that I later realized were more autocratic and self-serving than they were meant to serve me or our relationship.

I scrape my long hair into a messy, wet bun and knot it around itself on top of my head.

Of course, Decker’s turning on the charm.

We have a deal. If we don’t last until our teams tell us we need to, he won’t reap any benefits.

If I weren’t a business arrangement, I’d just be another high five in the locker room, an earring in that drawer.

Though, if it weren’t for the agreement we made, I’d never date him to begin with.

My jewelry would never be cast off in here for him to sift through as he recollects his conquests.

A little fire lights inside me, a different heat spreading within as I stew over this dumb collection of junk.

I wonder if he laughs about it with his friends.

Smells the crap in there when he’s bored.

A mix of disgust and fury builds inside until I’m marching out of the bathroom, no longer caring about my state of dress.

When I fling the door open, the words about drawers and conquests are erupting out of my mouth before I can even form a rational argument.

No matter. I’m ready for a fight. I’m ready to put him in his place.

Decker is perched on the edge of his king-size bed, a fan on his bedside table already blowing full blast toward his pillow.

He stares at his phone, oblivious to the fact that I’ve entered the room, that my lips are moving.

The fan is drowning me out. As my feet pound toward him, he finally looks up and stands.

Only then does it register that the sole thing he’s wearing is a pair of gray sweatpants.

He's completely shirtless. I have to pry my shocked eyes from his bare chest, which only makes me angrier with him.

How dare he distract me from the earful I decided to give him like five seconds ago?

Princess perks up, tilting her head as I open my mouth, but Decker speaks first, his unblinking eyes focused on my face.

“Do you need clothes?” he asks quietly.

“I sleep naked,” I whisper back.

“Oh.” He swallows hard, his unflinching gaze still locked somewhere on my face.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I need clothes, Decker. I’m not sleeping naked with you. Especially with Joss in the room, you perv.”

His face twists, his voice rising to a ridiculous whisper-yell. “Perv? I’m trying to help you. I’m offering you clothes.”

“You’re the one waiting for me like that!”

“Like what?”

I allow my eyes to slip down his body again as I squeeze my towel tighter to my chest. “Like that! Half-naked!”

“This is what I sleep in. It’s time for bed. I can put a shirt on.” He crosses to his dresser, pulling out two t-shirts and a pair of shorts. A Kings blue shirt and baggy black shorts land next to Princess. Yanking a shirt on, he heads toward the bathroom. “Whatever. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

I peer over at Joss, who hasn’t moved an inch, then to the open bathroom door.

When it clicks shut behind him, I drop my towel and pull on the clothes Decker’s laid out for me like I’m in a race.

I rewrap my wet hair into a bun, and then I’m back on my warpath, busting into the bathroom without knocking.

A startled Decker stares back at me, his toothbrush halfway to his mouth.

“Why do you have this?” I ask, pointing to the drawer.

Slowly, he begins to brush his teeth, staring at me like I’ve sprouted three extra boobs or something. “What are you talking about? Have what?”

I roll my eyes and yank it open. “This! Why do you have a drawer of other people’s stuff?”

I don’t specify that these things clearly belong to women because I don’t want to sound jealous.

And then it hits me. Is that why I’m doing this?

Is it truly because I’m repulsed by his former antics, or is it because I can’t stand the thought of him being with someone else?

It’s not like I haven’t been with other guys; that’s the entire reason I’m here right now.

Because I dated someone else and it ended in a literal fiery crash.

More than the thought of him having other girls over, I think what bothers me the most is the possibility of finding out he isn’t the person he’s shown himself to be over our time together.

The thought is enough to make me want to keep him at arm's length.

He smiles, his toothbrush dangling out of the side of his mouth. “You know, my mom said you would keep me on my toes.”

He already talked to his mom about me?

I double down. “Answer the question. Why do you keep this stuff?”

He sets his toothbrush on the counter and spits in the sink, taking his time to rinse it down the drain.

The peppermint scent knocks me over as he turns to face me, pressing the heels of his hands into the countertop and leaning back.

“I didn’t know what to do with it, so I threw it in a drawer.

What if there’s like an heirloom in there or something? ”