Page 9 of Under My Skin

Chapter Nine

LUCY

A hot shower was just what I needed after today.

Actually, a hot shower in a quiet apartment where no one is yelling into a headset might be just what I’ve needed for the past month.

I’m careful not to scrub my recently acquired artwork, but I’m determined to clean the rest of me like I can scrub off my anxiety over seeing my parents tomorrow.

My brother and I still haven’t talked much about it.

When I got here, he asked if I had eaten, and when I said no that became his focus.

We haven’t brought up the fact that our parents have been heavily involving him in something that will change all our lives forever, while I’ve been left in the dark.

I reach for the shampoo bottle even though I’ve already washed my hair. I don’t want to face this. I mean, at this point it’s more awkward than anything else. What am I supposed to say to them?

Hey! What’s new? The house looks empty and loveless. Kind of like your marriage, right?

I scoff at the thought. They should have told me.

They should have sat me down the way parents do in movies.

Their somber faces would make me assume the worst, and by the time they told me the news, I’d be so relieved that neither of them were terminally ill, I wouldn’t have cared about their marriage falling apart.

Tilting my leg, I stare down at the sleeping cat at the base of my ankle. Water droplets distort the image slightly, but it’s adorable. Everett truly has a gift. In a matter of minutes, and with minimal detail, he still managed to make this cat look like Pudge and not just any four-legged feline.

A pounding knock on the door makes me jump. I roll my eyes. Simon probably has some stupid rule about limiting showers to ten minutes.

“Almost done!” I call out. To be fair, I’ve probably been in here longer than I realized. It’s not every day that I wash each body part twice and spend long stretches staring at a hand-drawn cat in between.

Quickly finishing the rest of my shower, I turn off the water and reach for the towel I left folded on the sink. Once it’s wrapped around me, I wring out the excess water from my hair and finger comb my bangs into place.

My clothes lay neatly folded on the bathroom counter, and I thumb through the small stack for my underwear.

Not there.

I know I grabbed all my clothes. Lifting the corner of each folded clothing item again, I double check.

Still not there.

“Damn it,” I mutter before picking up each item and shaking it out in case I’ve somehow missed them again.

Nothing.

“Shit.” I wrap my towel around myself tighter and head out into the quiet living room. Hopefully Simon’s in his bedroom, and I can run out, grab what I need, and then run back in like nothing happened.

Darting into the living room, I yelp at the sight of someone staring back at me from the kitchen on the other end.

Everett has his elbows on the counter with his phone in his hands like he had just been texting someone, but now his hands are still, and I’m lucky enough to have his full attention. He’s wearing the same thing he was earlier, and there’s a helmet on the counter next to him like he just got home.

“I thought you were Simon,” I blurt.

He blinks and clears his throat. “Um, no.” He shakes his head. “Not Simon.”

Shifting my weight, I wrap the towel tighter around myself, and Everett’s eyes jump to follow my hands for a fraction of a second before meeting my stare again. “To be fair, I thought you were Simon,” he offers.

I guess that would explain the impatient pounding on the door. Appraising him slightly, I say, “Do you live here or something?”

“Or something.”

My eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you say anything when I saw you earlier?”

He casually lifts his shoulder. “I figured you’d go to your parents’ place.”

The mention of my parents brings a familiar ache with it, but I don’t say anything back to that. Instead, I scan the room for what I’m looking for.

Everett fills the silence when I don’t. “I’m sort of staying here for a while. Hopefully not too much longer.”

Another minor detail my brother forgot to mention, I guess. Looking around the room in hopes of finding my lost underwear, I mutter, “I don’t blame you. Living with Simon?” I shiver at the thought. “Yikes.”

A soft chuckle is his only response, but I feel his eyes on me. When I dare to meet his stare again, he’s standing up straight and eyeing me with subtle amusement. “Looking for something?”

“Maybe,” I answer reluctantly as I get back to my search. The last thing I need is for Everett Meyers to know I can’t find my panties .

“Does whatever you’re looking for happen to have . . . pineapples?”

My head whips in his direction to find him peering over the kitchen counter to stare at something on the floor on the other side. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Maybe?” I say again, the heat rising in my cheeks.

He walks around the kitchen counter. “Here, let me get it for?—”

“No!” I scurry around the couch. They must have slipped onto the floor while I was getting my stuff together.

He freezes. “I just figured since you’re . . .” His words trail, but he nods toward me, and my hand clenches around the towel tighter. He’s right. If I bend over, this towel is short enough to give him a show he never asked to see.

I stare down at my white underwear covered in tiny pineapples and let out a sigh of defeat. “Everett, can you please hand me my underwear?”

His lips lift at my obvious discomfort, and I’m glad at least one of us is having a good time. I would very much like to crawl into a hole and die in this moment, but it’s good to see he’s enjoying himself.

He bends down at my feet and grabs the delicate fabric, but he doesn’t stand up right away. Instead, he points at my ankle. “You didn’t scrub it off,” he says as he gets to his feet.

It’s not really a question. It’s more of an observation, but when he looks at me expectantly, I do my best to cross my arms while keeping myself covered. “Why would I wash it off? It’s supposed to be there for the rest of my life.”

A hint of a smile pulls at his lips, and I do my best to ignore the flip my stomach does at the sight.

Since when does a smile from Everett make my stomach flip?

Since when does a smile from anyone have that effect on me?

Strangers far enough away on the street, sure.

Celebrities in magazines, yeah sometimes.

But someone this close? Who I actually know?

I’m close enough to see Everett’s flaws, but right now, I can’t find them.

I’m too busy staring at the dark lines creeping up the back of his neck.

I can’t tell what they connect to, but the lines seem to take on a meaning of their own.

That meaning being: somewhere along the way, Everett Meyers became really fucking hot.

The way he was just looking up at me . .

. while practically kneeling at my feet? I swallow at the thought.

“I like them,” he says, and it takes me a moment to remember we’re standing in the middle of my brother’s apartment and not at an inn with only one bed.

“Like what?” I fidget with the towel, desperate for my brain to return to normal.

He offers me the panties. “The pineapples.”

“On my underwear?” I tilt my head and scrunch my nose slightly as I pull them from his grip. Okay, all the thoughts I’ve had about him tonight have been weird, but he knows how weird that sounded, right? He has to know.

“Or just in general. Anywhere, really.”

I try to suppress a laugh. “Right.”

He winces and points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m going to walk back over there and pretend this never happened.”

“Probably a good idea,” I say, letting some of that laughter escape with my words. Pointing my thumb over my shoulder, I add, “I’m going to go put my clothes on now.”

He shoots me a playful glare for mimicking him as he walks backward, and I quickly turn on my heels and head back into the bathroom before I have the chance to notice how endearing it is.

Okay, maybe I notice a little.