Chapter Twenty #2
I wish I could rush into the house, lock myself in my room, and decompress from the last twenty-four hours. I need a shower desperately—for more than just how gross I feel, I need to wash him off of me. But this isn’t my house, and I don’t have my key on me.
The next three minutes feel like a lifetime.
Ripley is slower than usual to get moving, and I honestly don’t know if it’s on purpose or from just waking up.
Luckily, most of the supplies aren’t ours, so all we have to grab are our own belongings before Cary leaves and we finally go inside the house.
“Why is it so bright now?” Ripley whines with his eyes squeezed shut as Cary pulls away.
“Because it’s daytime,” I deadpan, and even I hear the irritation in my voice.
“But it was raining when we left.” Clearly, he’s too tired to be put off by how unreasonably annoyed I am. Good. It’s not with him, so I don’t want him to think it is. I’m annoyed with myself and the war I’m waging within my own head.
“Could you go a little faster? My feet feel like prunes, and I need to shower.”
He fumbles pulling his keys from his pocket, dropping them once, then twice before I snatch them from his hand. I get us inside three times faster than Ripley could, then slide my shoes off at the door, and yank my wet socks off with a cringe.
Ripley closes the door behind him, his shoes landing near the couch as he tosses them.
For once, I don’t care. Without another word, I rush up the stairs to my room, closing the door behind me as if he’s chasing me.
In reality, the only thing chasing me is my own thoughts.
Ripley probably doesn’t even realize I’m upstairs already.
Dropping my bag on the bed, I fish out all my dirty clothes and throw them into the hamper in the corner of the room.
I move to the set of drawers, grabbing some clean clothes.
His note from weeks ago about the coffee maker catches my eye.
I’d forgotten I stashed it in here so he wouldn’t see I kept it.
Just seeing it pisses me off more. I slam the drawer shut and dash across the hall for the shower. I know it’s rude since there’s only one and it’s his house, but I’m certain I’ll be done before he’s even considered washing off.
The shower helped. I feel less restless and only slightly confused and irritable instead of it being a living, breathing entity within me. No matter where I go though, I’m constantly surrounded by the smell of him. It makes getting him off my mind impossible.
Once dressed, I peek into the hallway, like a teenager sneaking out of the house. His door is closed, but I hear him rustling around. I rush across the hall, softly closing the door behind me.
This is dumb. I should be able to face this head on like everything else. I shouldn’t be letting my feelings for him affect me this much.
And yet, I can’t stop.
Picking up my phone from where I left it on the bedside table, my fingers itch to message him. To say what? No idea.
Maybe I’ll just let him know the shower is free. That’s innocent enough, plus it’s courteous of me since I should have let him go first anyway. Lying down on the bed, I scroll to his name in the messages app, my hands already clammy from the thought of talking to him. Which is ridiculous.
4/26 12:58 p.m.
Me: Hey, shower is free.
Delivered
The nerves plaguing me over sending a text with zero recourse or meaning is honestly my rock bottom. The three little dots pop up immediately, and a smirk pulls up at my lips before I can stop it.
4/26 12:59 p.m.
Ripley: Ngl, I’m sad you didn’t invite me to join you.
Delivered
4/26 1:00 p.m.
Me: I… was gross. There’s no way you wanted any part of that.
Delivered
As much as I would have loved another shower rendezvous with him, I needed a minute. But it’s good information to have for the future.
4/26 1:00 p.m.
Ripley: I beg to differ.
Delivered
4/26 1:01 p.m.
Ripley: I let you fuck me in the woods lol, I obviously don’t care.
Delivered
Reaching down, I adjust my semi-hard dick in my pants. The last thing I need to be thinking about is what happened last night.
4/26 1:01 p.m.
Me: Noted.
Delivered
The door to his room opens and closes and so does the one to the bathroom. The shower turns on. I’m still sitting on the bed staring at my phone when the shower turns off and he makes his way back to his room.
4/26 1:14 p.m.
Ripley: Are you okay?
Delivered
4/26 1:15 p.m.
Me: Yeah, just tired from that disaster of a camping trip.
Delivered
4/26 1:17 p.m.
Ripley: Oh? I seem to recall you had a pretty good time. Ready to recreate last night in the comfort of my humble abode?
Delivered
Is he serious? Or is this one of his jokes? I can never tell which makes navigating a conversation with him difficult sometimes.
And I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. We need to take a breather, spend some time apart to make sure we like where this is going.
4/26 1:18 p.m.
Me: Funny.
Delivered
4/26 1:18 p.m.
Ripley: I’m fully serious.
Delivered
4/26 1:20 p.m.
Me: I don’t want to sext, Rip.
Delivered
4/26 1:21 p.m.
Ripley: Good. Neither do I. Get your ass over here.
Delivered
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If he were anyone else, I’d ignore him. I’d shut it down, tell him exactly what I’m telling myself. But he’s Ripley, he’s East. And despite what I might tell myself, I have no self-control when it comes to this man.
Without another thought, I toss my phone aside and make my way to the door.