Page 8 of Truth or More Truth (Throwback RomComs #3)

seven

. . .

B obby’s hand grasps mine in the dark, and he moves closer to me—close enough I can feel his body heat. And now his shoulder is bumped up against mine, sending a shiver through me. I’m glad he couldn’t see it, but did he feel it? His scent—a heady wood and floral combination—fills the tiny room.

“Think we can get toothpaste onto our brushes in the dark?” he asks.

“I’m certain I can, but I have my doubts about you,” I tease.

“Game on, Teague.”

I giggle as he lets go of my hand, and I feel his arm muscles move against mine as he loads up his toothbrush. I do the same.

“I’m turning on the water now,” he says, and in a few seconds the sound of running water fills the small room. “I’ve got my brush wet. Your turn.”

I feel around until I find the stream of water and swipe my brush under it. I feel bad about leaving the water running while we brush, but not enough to turn it off. Now the sounds of tooth brushing fill the room.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “I’m ready to spit and rinse. You?”

“Yup,” I say around my toothbrush. I leave it dangling from my mouth as I fumble around trying to find the matches again.

I pull one from the box and manage to light it on the first try.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the light, and when they do, I catch Bobby’s eyes in the mirror.

I smile at the sight of him with toothpaste foaming out of his mouth.

He gives me a goofy grin before spitting it out into the sink and quickly rinsing his mouth.

Then he takes the match from me while I do the same.

I finish just as he’s forced to shake the flame out, and I catch his smile in the mirror before darkness descends again.

“Perfect timing,” he says.

“Now for the awkward part,” I say.

“Yes,” he says, “the using the facilities part. I can handle it on my own, but do you need me to hold a match for you? While facing the other way, obviously.”

I take a deep breath. “I think I can do it in the dark. But stay there in case I decide I need light, okay? Here are the matches.” I transfer the box to his hand. “Sorry you’re going to hear this, but there’s not much we can do about that.”

Thankfully, I’m able to take care of business and wash my hands in the dark.

“Okay,” I say. “You’re between me and the door in this minuscule space. How are we going to do this?”

“You find me,” he says. “Like before. Then we’ll spin around and switch places.”

I reach a hand out, and it soon hits his firm chest. Then, instead of using the knowledge of our relative positions to help us spin around, my palm flattens against his chest, and I hold it there.

I hear him suck in a breath, and within seconds his hand covers mine, sending a tremor all the way to my toes.

His other hand lightly touches my shoulder, and his fingers skim down my arm until they find my hip. Now I’m the one sucking in a breath.

“You ready to spin?” His voice sounds husky.

“Yes,” I whisper, as I can’t seem to find my voice.

He slowly turns us.

“I have no idea how far we’ve turned,” he says.

“Me, neither.” I giggle lightly, trying to break the tension.

The hand covering mine on his chest disappears. “I feel the sink over here,” he says, “so we’re where we need to be. Can you make your way out okay?”

I nod, but then I realize he can’t see it. “Yes. ”

I wave my arm behind me until I find the doorjamb, and with reluctance, I remove my hand from his chest, back out of the room, close the door behind me, and climb into my bed.

When the door opens again, Bobby says into the darkness, “We’re never telling anyone about that, right?”

Never. “Oh, you’d better believe that as soon as we get to Arkansas, I’m telling everyone you’re a weirdo who stands in the bathroom and listens to me pee.”

He groans. “Melissa.”

“Bobby,” I say in the same tone of voice he used.

“Is it already colder in here, or is it just me?” he asks as he makes his way around my bed to his own.

“Definitely colder.” It’s only going to get worse, and I’m not sure the thin blanket and bedspread on my bed will be up to the task of keeping me warm.

“I’m going to put my sweater back on,” he says. “You need more clothes, or are you okay?”

My sweatshirt and flannel pants are keeping me warm enough now, but I’m not sure they will later. “I think I’m going to grab another pair of socks, and maybe another pair of pants.”

“Don’t get up,” he says. “I’ll get you my other pair of sweats and some socks.”

So the man does know how to be a gentleman. Actually, he’s been a gentleman for most of the day, now that I think about it.

“You know what else we need to do?” I ask.

“What?”

“Drip the faucet.”

“Who the what?” he responds.

“We need to barely turn on the faucet so the water drips out,” I explain. “It’ll keep the water in the pipes from freezing and then exploding the pipes and flooding everything.”

“But if the water is frozen, how can it flood?”

“Huh. I don’t know. That’s a good question. But we still need to do it.”

“Okay. I’m on it.”

It takes him a few minutes to make his way into the bathroom and get the faucet dripping. He stubs his toes in the process, and it’s hard to keep from giggling at the string of curses he lets out.

“This dripping sound might make me want to throw things,” he says.

“Close the door. That’ll help.”

A minute later he says, “I’m setting the clothes on the end of your bed, okay?”

“Thanks.” Without fully getting out from under the covers, I pull on the socks and then slip his pants on over mine.

His bedding rustles as he gets in. Silence reigns for a few minutes before he says, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep. It’s barely eight o’clock, which is only six in California.”

“Same. I usually don’t go to sleep before eleven.”

“Time to play ‘Truth or Dare’ again then.”

I burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you suggested that. What can we dare each other to do in the dark, though?”

His silence makes me think about what I just said, and my cheeks burn.

“Um,” I say, “I mean …”

“Yeah, I’m definitely telling everyone in Arkansas about that question.” He chuckles.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he teases.

I smile into the darkness. “So we’re playing ‘Truth or More Truth,’ then?”

“I’m kind of hoping for a dare now.”

Warmth spreads throughout my body, and once again I’m glad he can’t see me, unlike when he caught me staring at his toned arms when he came out of the bathroom earlier when the lights were on. I didn’t believe his “is there a stain on my shirt” line for one second.

I say, “All right, Sport, I dare you to play ‘Truth or More Truth’ with me.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Just one truth, though. And I get one veto. So think carefully about what you really want to know about me. ”

I want to know about the woman—women?—in his life, but I’m afraid I won’t like his answer, and I don’t want to ruin the burgeoning friendship between us.

If he’s a cheater, I don’t want to know.

Or do I? Can I even be friends with someone who cheats on his girlfriend?

I’ve been on the other side of that equation, and it’s a terrible place to be.

I can’t help but think he’s not a cheater, though.

If he were, I don’t think Ash and Randall would want him in their lives.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not a player.

Dating more than one person at once isn’t my jam, but I’m not going to judge people who do it, as long as everyone involved is aware of the situation.

Since I have no intention of dating Bobby, regardless of how delicious he looked in his T-shirt and sweatpants or how my body responds to his touch, I determine it’s not my business to ask any more questions about his romantic relationships.

Instead, I need to ask him something that will help me get to know him better—help me like him better.

Due to our intersecting jobs and mutual friends, we’ll be in each other’s lives for a long time.

“I can hear your brain working,” he says. “It’s even drowning out the dripping sound.”

“I’m trying to think of something that’s going to take you a long time to fully answer, since I only get one chance.”

He chuckles. “Take your time.”

A minute later, I say, “Tell me how you feel about your job.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“I thought you were going to ask about my girlfriend, since you were obsessed with that topic earlier in the day.”

“I wasn’t obsessed!”

“You were.”

I don’t respond, because he’s right.

He clears his throat. “So my job, huh? You definitely picked a topic that doesn’t have an easy answer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He almost sounds defeated.

“You don’t have to tell me, you know.”

“I know. But I want to. I need to.”