Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ON THE LIST of famous last words, I may as well add “the worst parts were already over.” One might see me in my current predicament and wonder how someone intelligent enough to hack it in my career possibly could’ve ended up here. Like this. And the answer was simple, really.
Even smart people could be unbelievably stupid when their pride was on the line.
In my defense, it had seemed like a genius idea at the time.
After returning to the lockers at the spa, I’d found all of my clothes slimy and wet from the half a bottle of miracle hair serum that had tipped over and spilled.
I could either suck it up and wear the clothes anyway, getting my body and car seats slimy and sticky in the process, too, or keep the hideous swimsuit on. I’d chosen the latter.
When I’d made it home, Colleen had been in her front yard, weeding her flowerbed.
She’d waved at me as I’d pulled in the driveway, already making her way toward me for a friendly chat I had no desire to have, and especially not while in my swimwear.
I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d run the second my keys left the ignition.
Unfortunately, I’d realized the moment my hand touched the doorknob that at this time of day, Colt would be cooking dinner.
In the kitchen. The exact room the door to the carport led into.
The exact room I’d have to pass within full view of in order to get to the relative safety of my room, should I brave Colleen and enter through the front door.
Even if I sprinted the whole way, he’d see me.
He’d get a whole eye-full of my garish suit and reddened face, all while he looked as yummy as always.
Before catching feelings for him, I would’ve done everything in my power to avoid that. Now? When I wanted to impress him, maybe have him find me attractive or notice things about me that weren’t my annoying habits and weird quirks?
I’d made a split-second decision and dashed for the backyard, latching the gate behind me seconds before Colleen rounded the corner of the house. Yet another problem arose, though, because the backdoor also led into the kitchen. And that’s when the window to my room caught my eye.
Which was how I got here, hanging halfway out the window with my belly caught in the windowsill.
Regret, thy name is Lex.
I huffed out a breath, bracing my hands against the windowsill by my tummy.
My arms shook from the effort and concentration it took to keep my weight from squishing into the silicone.
I wasn’t sure if it would leave a dent, and I didn’t want to find out.
I couldn’t take the tummy off from this angle even if I didn’t mind risking my cover, so the only way out was through.
I could do this. If I could do pull-ups, push-ups, burpees, yoga, and dance, climbing through a window should be a piece of cake. A piece of stubbornly lodged, pear-shaped cake.
Maybe if I rotated so I could slide through on my back?
“Lex?”
I froze halfway between rolling over, my blood running cold and draining from my face. This couldn’t be happening. No, no, no, no, no!
Colt repeated my name, his voice coming from—not the inside like you’d guess, oh no. It came from behind me. In the backyard.
“I have so many questions,” he continued, “but first and foremost is, what are you doing?”
I tried with renewed vigor to hoist myself through the window—or even back out of it, I didn’t care which direction at this point—only to budge maybe an inch. “What does it look like I’m doing? Wait, don’t answer that.”
His view currently consisted of my backside, covered in a sagging swimsuit bottom with a floral print that should be illegal, my short legs kicking ineffectually. I did not want to know how it looked to him.
I racked my brain for a possible explanation. Now that a rectangle of glass and a wooden frame had humbled me, the foolishness of my decision was unignorable. “I’m, uh, I’m testing to see how easy it would be for someone to break in through the bedroom window, obviously.”
“A pregnant someone wearing—what on earth are you wearing?”
“It’s the height of fashion, Colt. Look it up.” I kicked again, accomplishing nothing.
“Uh-huh.”
He sounded torn between amusement, doubt, and concern.
I would’ve wished I could read his subtle facial cues to figure out which emotion was most dominant, but I didn’t want to look him in the eye right now.
I was already dying inside. Seeing what respect he had for me drain from his eyes in real-time would finish me off.
“So, uh,” I said conversationally, as if he weren’t conversing with my rear end while the other half of me dangled through the window, “what brings you to the backyard? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, making dinner right now or something?”
That was exactly where he should be. Five thirty to six thirty every night was dinner preparation. Every. Night. And yet today of all days, he’d deviated from his routine.
“I was waiting for you to get home so I could ask how it went,” he replied, amusement winning out in his voice. “When I saw your car but not you, I came outside to investigate. Then I heard some rustling back here and, well… here I am.”
Of all the times to care about me, this was one of the worst. And, sure, he only wanted to ask because it directly pertained to our mission, but a girl could dream, right?
“I see.” My arms shook violently, a sheen of sweat gathering on my skin. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Trust me, I am very glad I postponed dinner.”
My face ignited, likely darkening the red that lingered from Hattie’s overzealousness. Good thing he couldn’t see that right now. “Are you sure your hair won’t spontaneously combust from breaking your routine?”
“Very funny.” His tone indicated he found it to be anything but that. “Do you want my help or not?”
“No, I got it.” I squirmed some more, clearly showing how much I did not . Would it be worse to die of embarrassment from him having to help me, or from starvation for being stuck in this window for eternity? It was a toss-up.
“Clearly.”
I struggled more, almost making progress when I started scaling the wall with my feet while hoisting myself up by the window frame from the inside, only to slip and get stuck right where I started.
I grunted in frustration. “Okay, yes, please help me.”
Colt chuckled, enjoying the show far too much. “Wow, you even said ‘please’.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I warned, as if there were anything I’d ever regret more than getting myself into this position in the first place.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, would you like me to push from the back or pull from the front?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer.” Neither option was ideal. Either he got an armful of saggy swimsuit and raw, red legs, or I had to look at him while he helped me out from what was easily the worst predicament of my life.
“If you won’t decide, I’ll decide for you.”
“Ugh, okay, pull from the back, then. I’ll come back the way I came. I think that’s my best bet.” I hadn’t succeeded in getting my belly fully past the windowsill, so in theory this should be easier.
“Very well, then. Uh…” He broke off, having moved close enough his body heat faintly radiated across my legs. “How do I… how would you prefer I… grab you?”
“However you can,” I grunted, quickly losing the battle against gravity as my arms trembled more violently.
“Are you sure?”
“ Yes ,” I bit out, the word sharper than intended. I sucked in a breath and tried again. “Sorry, that came out ruder than I meant. Yes, please, just grab whatever part of me you need to. I know you aren’t trying to cop a feel or anything.”
He’d never be the type to do so, period, but especially not while I was wearing the Celibacy Maker 3,000. The stupid, hearts-in-her-eyes part of me almost wished he would, though. What was an appreciative butt squeeze or two between fake spouses in the grand scheme of things, anyway?
When he still didn’t grab me, I let out a frustrated huff. My muscles would give out any second. “Colt, for the love of everything, just grab me. Touching me won’t kill you, but if you don’t get me out of here soon, I might.”
Threatening my crush left a lot to be desired in the flirting department, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when my sweaty fingers started slipping on the windowsill. My vision blurred around the edges, only the unmade bed in the center of the room in focus.
His arms locked around my thighs where they met my hips, his firm body pressing against my legs to provide leverage while he lifted me up by the hips.
The sudden warmth and pressure and sheer electricity that flooded my body from the contact nearly made me lose my hold on the windowsill.
My brain short-circuited. But in my defense, anyone would if their butt was pressed up against their crush’s rock-hard chest.
I snapped out of it, finally making myself useful by pushing myself up and off the sill with what strength I had left. For one heart-stopping moment, I didn’t budge. Then, with a sliding, almost grinding noise, I popped free.
The momentum sent me backward. Colt stumbled from having an entire woman shoot herself butt-first at him, his hold on my hips too awkward to prevent the inevitable. We both went down. His body cushioned my fall, a wheezing grunt escaping him as I all but sat on him.
I rolled off him as soon as I could, but the damage was already done. He lay on the grass staring at the darkening sky until his diaphragm could expand again.
The grass smooshed beneath my palms and knees as I crawled to his side, the earthy scent of the soil mixing with his subtle cologne.
My hand hovered over his chest uncertainly.
I doubted I’d cracked one of his ribs, but in case I had, I didn’t want to make things worse by poking around. “Are you okay?”