22. Klein
Cecily texts totell me she posted my airplane photo. It reminds me to add the photos from mine and Paisley’s walk on the beach. I do as I’m supposed to, then switch my phone to Do Not Disturb for the remainder of the night.
“Alright, Klein,” Lausanne says, “people tend to be opinionated about chicken noodle soup, so let’s hear it. What did you think of mine?”
I sit back in my porch seat and pretend to think. My standards for chicken noodle soup are astronomical. I can’t recall a childhood sick day that didn’t carry with it the aroma of chicken broth and sage. My mother, inexplicably to my immature brain, always had on hand the ingredients.
“It ranks up there with my mom’s,” I answer, and Lausanne beams.
She goes on to claim it’s because she took the ferry to the mainland and shopped at a farmers market, where the carrots had been pulled from the ground the day prior.
It might be that, but my money is on the third beer I had. Everything tastes better after you pop the top on beer number three.
Paisley and Lausanne polished off a bottle of white wine at dinner, and uncorked a second on the way out to sit on the porch.
“Klein,” Lausanne says, staring dreamily at the dark sky with her glass pressed to the front of her light sweater. “Did Paisley tell you I once kissed Bob Barker?”
Paisley and I share a look, a playful smile running across her lips.
Sitting back, I prepare myself to hear the story. “Paisley may have mentioned you kissed Bob Barker.”
“There I was,” Lausanne launches into her narrative. “In Los Angeles visiting a friend. We were invited to the studio taping of The Price Is Right. This was in the 80s, so the show had been on-air for a while by then. What I mean to say is that the precedent to kiss him on the cheek had already been set.” She grins at her memory. “I could not believe it when my name was called to come on down. And then I guessed the closest price for a terribly ugly armoire, and suddenly he was inviting me onstage! I knew it would be the only moment in my life when I’d be on TV, and in the presence of Bob Barker at the same time, so I went for it.” She laughs, eyes sparkling.
Paisley sighs. “I love that story.”
“My mom will, too. She watched that show when I was a kid.”
Lausanne lifts one shoulder and does a playful little shimmy. “Alright, granddaughter of mine,” Lausanne narrows her gaze at Paisley. “Tell me the truth.”
Paisley looks at me in alarm, but Lausanne follows it up with, “Is it weird that your sister is marrying your ex?”
Paisley softly chuckles. “Yeah.” She drops her feet to the floor and rocks back in her chair. For a moment there is only the reliable sound of the waves kissing the shore, then she says, “I want Sienna to be happy, and Shane, too.” She shrugs, glancing at me with a look I can’t decipher. “It would have been nice if Sienna had thought of my feelings,” she admits.
Lausanne shakes her head back and forth. “I couldn’t believe it when your mother told me you’re in the wedding. Why did you say yes to that?”
“I thought about the future, sometime down the road when they’ve been married for a long time. I had to ask myself if I would still care about it all by then, or if I would regret it if I really put my foot down. And, honestly”—Paisley’s gaze flicks to Lausanne—“it was easier to say yes.”
“Easier on her,” Lausanne points out.
“Yeah.”
“What about you?” she presses.
Paisley’s attention is on me now, swift and sure. “I’m doing fine.”
The desire to touch her right now is strong, but Lausanne sits between us. I settle for a dip of my chin, a slow acceptance of her claim.
Lausanne pushes off with her feet, rocking her own chair, and nods. I’m not sure if it’s in agreement, or acquiescence.
After a long moment, Paisley announces she’s going inside for water and she’ll return with enough for everyone.
When the door closes behind her, Lausanne says into the dark night, “Paisley should’ve told her sister to go fuck herself.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Paisley downedthree glasses of water and declared it bedtime. Lausanne kissed both our cheeks and climbed the narrow staircase to her second story bedroom.
On our trek in from the beach earlier, I’d located an air mattress in an unattached shed, hidden off to the side of the house. When I’m positive Lausanne has closed her bedroom door, I sneak outside and remove it from where I hide it behind the billowy hydrangea bush.
Upstairs, Paisley turns on the shower while I use the handheld motor to inflate the air mattress.
Or, as I attempt to inflate the mattress. Ancient and missing instructions, this is likely going to end up with me in a MacGyver situation. Short on tools and extra sticky bubblegum, I’ll have to rely on my intellect.
Paisley sits on the edge of the bed as she waits for the water to heat, watching me. In five second intervals, her longing gaze finds itself in the bathroom, where the shower runs.
“You can take a shower,” I tell her, wrestling with the small metal piece that is supposed to fit into the mattress.
“We need the sound. I wouldn’t be able to close the door.”
“You afraid I’ll sneak a peek?”
“Klein,” her head tips sideways. At some point this evening she tied it into a messy bun identical to the one flopping around her head when she showed up to the airport. Was that only this morning? It feels like it could’ve been yesterday.
As if spurred into action by my thoughts, the exhaustion sinks into my bones. I sit back on my knees and fight a yawn. “Yes, Paisley?”
“We’re sharing a room. And a bathroom. I’d say it’s likely that at some point this week, you and I are going to see one another’s bits.”
If I didn’t feel like I’d recently swallowed a mouthful of melatonin, I’d be laughing out loud at her use of the word bits. “This feels like a set up. Like you’re planning to rip away my towel after I step out of the shower.”
Paisley pushes herself off the bed, the shadow of a sly smile playing on her face. “If I do, just know it’s for research purposes. I’m still trying to figure out if it lights up.”
A laugh takes me by surprise, causing me to cough. Paisley sails into the bathroom, leaving the door open. There isn’t a single part of me that does not want to lean back, just a little, just enough, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Paisley in a state of undress. I’m not picky. Any state of undress will do.
Those sexy legs of hers not covered up by shorts? I’ll take it.
A shirt missing from her upper half? Doesn’t matter that I’ll probably see her in a bikini before the day is over tomorrow. I could die a happy man, envisioning her breasts gathered in the lace of her bra.
I can’t let my mind go any further, can’t let myself even begin to think of what she would be like under her bra and panties. The shorts I changed into before our walk on the beach don’t hide a damn thing, and if she comes out here before the blood flow redistributes to the other parts of my body, there will be no hiding what the idea of her naked in the bathroom does to me.
With the laser focus of a man trying to get rid of an erection, I throw all my attention into figuring out this air mattress.
And, what do you know? Without the distraction of Paisley perched on the bed watching me, I get it working and inflated in no time.
Paisley appears in the doorway, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body, her hair wound into something small and lavender and turban-like on her head. Her skin is flushed from the heat of the water.
“The shower is free,” she announces, scampering into the room.
My eyes are on her body as she crosses to the dresser.
“New rule,” she says, rummaging through the top drawer. “Take your fresh clothes into the bathroom with you when you shower.”
“In that case,” I respond, stepping up to my side of the dresser and opening my top drawer. “I guess I should grab my things.”
“Mm hmm,” Paisley hums, rummaging through the contents of her drawer. Thongs in every color stare teasingly back at me.
“You going to choose something, or stir it around like a soup?” I don’t intend to sound so gruff, but that erection I worked to get rid of is back in full force.
My tone rolls off Paisley’s smooth, tan skin. She grins. She’s enjoying this.
“Oh, Klein. So grumpy sometimes.” Using two fingers, she plucks a delightfully poor excuse for an undergarment out of the assortment and holds it aloft. “These will do,” she says.
Sliding fisted hands into my shorts pockets, I do what I can to press out on the fabric and give the front some breathing room.
I give Paisley a dead-eye expression, as if the color of the sheer thong she’s holding out is not an exact match to her eye color.
She steps back. “Shower time,” she says playfully. “Might want to make it a cold one,” she adds, looking pointedly at my crotch.
Grabbing something to sleep in, I roll my eyes at her as I hustle past. It’s either that, or I’ll end up turning our first good kiss into our first fantastic fuck.
Unlike Paisley, I close and lock the door to the bathroom.
Because I didn’t sneak a peek, I can’t say for sure what Paisley did in the shower, but I know for damn sure what I’m adding to tonight’s agenda for my shower.
Between Paisley’s moist post-shower skin wrapped in that towel, and her little show with her thong, I find relief in almost no time.
It’s acceptable, but not nearly good enough.
I’m out and dressed when there’s a soft knock on the door. I open it, and in steps Paisley wearing an oversized sleep shirt that falls to mid-thigh.
“I need my moisturizer,” she says, pointing at an array of tubes and bottles on the counter. “And to brush my teeth.”
We stand beside each other in front of our respective sinks. She shares her tube of toothpaste, and we trade bubble paste grins and fleeting glances in the mirror with toothbrushes stuck out of the sides of our mouths.
Paisley is picking through her toiletries bag when something clatters to the tiled bathroom floor.
Bending, I pick it up. It has a handle like a wand, and a rounded head covered in tiny nodules.
“Paisley,” I smirk. “Am I holding your special friend in my hand?”
She swipes the rubber tool from my grasp. “Wipe that amused grin from your lips. It’s a facial cleansing device.” Held an inch above the surface of her skin, she demonstrates by running it in concentric circles.
When I say nothing, she makes a face, daring me to challenge her. I hold up my hands in a show of surrender. She tosses the device into her bag and stomps from the bathroom.
I finish up, then follow her. All I want is to face-plant that giant bed Paisley is pulling back the covers on.
Alas. The already wilting and cracked plastic air mattress will be my bed.
All the lights in the room are off, save for an ambient glow from the nightstand lamp. The window is propped open, the soft cadence of the water filtering into the room.
Charcoal gray sheets cover the air mattress, and a pillow. Nudging the mattress with my foot, I say, “Those weren’t there when I went to take a shower.”
“The bedding fairy visited in your absence.” Paisley, content with her sheet arranging and pillow fluffing, climbs into that big, soft-looking bed. The night shirt rides up her thighs, exposing her shapely muscles, her creamy skin.
She has one leg poking out from the cover, and I swear that leg is begging for my fingertips to run up its length, my hands to knead the muscles, my lips to blaze a trail.
I could do it, right now. Lean over her where she lies, deliver that kiss I’ve promised her. She’s right. The clock is ticking.
But I want it to be perfect. The remainder of our touches this week will be for show, so this one that I get with her? I’m setting a bar, for whom I don’t know, but I have to be superior. I’m already her worst kiss. Now I need to be her best.
The air mattress makes awkward noises as I settle in. “Thanks, bedding fairy.”
“You’re welcome.” Paisley’s face appears over the edge of the bed. She’s frowning, her gaze running the length of the mattress. “I’m not certain that bed will hold up all night.”
“It’ll be fine,” I assure, the lie floating through my teeth. This bed is ancient, and likely has a number of fissures.
Paisley’s frown deepens. “If you wake up during the night and find yourself on the floor, you have my permission to come up here. But don’t be a hog,” she warns. “Stay on your side.”
I fold my pillow in half and blink up at her. “Parameters noted and accepted.”
She stretches across the nightstand and turns off the lamp. The room falls into darkness. “Good night, Wordsmith. Get your beauty sleep. Tomorrow, the real hoodwinking begins.”
“Sleep tight, Ace.”