Ethan
Stewardess Barbie does not make another appearance. Conjugal Visit Barbie, however, is something I push into the far corner of my mind the moment my alarm goes off and I’m startled awake. My dreams are usually less absurd and more, well, nightmarish.
It takes a few seconds for my bleary eyes to adjust to the dim morning light of the hotel room. To realize my neck doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday. To realize my right arm—I can’t feel my right arm.
Panic courses through me, then confusion when I turn my head and my mouth runs into a mess of hair.
I splutter, freezing momentarily when Barbie groans. She shifts slightly, her body arching against my hip, and then she goes still again. My limb remains trapped under her.
The pillow she placed between us last night is no longer there. I’ve got no idea where it is. Or how she’s still asleep while my alarm is blaring like an obnoxious siren.
Exhaling slowly while I silence my phone, I try to figure out how to extract my arm without waking her up. I’m not kidding about how bitey she is in the morning without coffee. I don’t want to experience it in person.
Blowing out another breath, I realize what I have to do. I quickly yank my arm out like a magician would do to a tablecloth underneath a set table of dishes and silverware.
Inertia is not on my side. Newton’s First Law of Motion is being thrown in my face. Objects will remain at rest unless acted upon by an external force, which happens to be Barbie startling awake.
A yelp escapes from her as she hastily rolls away from me in a fit of panic and falls over the other side of the bed. She lands in a loud thump.
I sit up straight, barely moving an inch when she rises to her feet and groggily… touches her pillow, which she fluffs halfheartedly before she climbs back under the cover and curls up. She’s out in an instant.
What.
“Barbie,” I whisper, and I’m met with a soft whine while she pulls the sheet over her ear. Morning person, my ass. “Barb—”
She groans into her pillow. “You’re not getting food in your bowl until six-fifty.”
Again, what?
“I just need to make sure you didn’t give yourself a concussion,” I say, and she mumbles something incoherent and pulls the sheet completely over her head. “Come on, Bee. I’ll pick you up another Cuban espresso from Java Hut.”
Dead silence.
I’m about to shake her shoulder when I hear her mumble, “And a donut?”
“Will you swear on your cat you won’t be bitey with me today—”
“I’m not bitey.” She rolls onto her back and peeks over the sheet with one eye half-opened.
“Every morning, you’re always on the offense the moment I answer a call.
Even if you wait until seven-fifteen. But it’s okay.
” She wriggles back under the cover. “You won’t experience bitey for much longer. I’m putting in my two weeks’ notice.”
“You’re what?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I’m leaving Green Checks by the end of August.”
“You’re actually thinking of quitting?”
Barbie shrugs off my question while her focus remains on her phone.
“You’re not leaving because of me, are you?” That gets her attention. She lifts her head and peers at me.
“No. It’s not because of you.” She sweeps a lock of her hair over her ear. “I have an internship I applied for earlier this year, and I got in.”
“An internship?” My brow hikes an inch.
“Yeah. I wanted to do this for so long—” She crams her cell phone into her pocket when the door swings open. A bright smile flits across her lips.
The receptionist we had checked in with shuffles into the room. “Here are your robes and slippers. Your therapists shall be with you shortly.”
“Oh. Of course. Thank you,” Barbie says. “How… uh… stripped down should we get?”
“You can go with whatever you’re comfortable with,” the receptionist responds. “Although, I would recommend taking everything off for a proper full body massage.”
Barbie and I immediately make eye contact. Suddenly, the room feels twice as small while the receptionist continues rambling.
“I’ll give you guys a few minutes before I send them in.”
We’re still gawking at each other while she makes her exit. The moment the door shuts, I turn on my feet to face her.
“Who’s gonna take your spot when you leave?” I ask, and disbelief flickers in her eyes, barely matching the confusion settling in my chest.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe Joe?”
“Joe is fucking incompetent,” I say. “Man’s always bragging about shit he didn’t even do during our backlog calls. Taking credit for other people’s work—”
“He—”
“Not only did you create them, I know you were the one who formatted the error lists. Not Joe. You’re always adamant about using the same, specific font—”
“Okay, timeout.” She makes a T with both of her hands. “First, we need to get naked—”
“Excuse me?” I inhale sharply, coming to a standstill when Barbie reaches for the hem of her tank top.
“I mean, feel free to get a massage with your clothes still fully on,” she mumbles, “but the bra I’m wearing is worth a day’s paycheck, and I’m not made of money, Ethan.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t leave the company for an internship,” I say. “Is it even paid?”
“It’s not paid—”
“Isn’t Malibu expensive? How much is a cup of coffee there, Barbie? What could it cost? Ten dollars?”
“God, I wish the drink I get is ten dollars,” she says with a quiet laugh.
“Another reason you shouldn’t bail on Green Checks just yet.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, shimmying her hips after unbuttoning her denim shorts. “There’s this beautiful invention called the coffeemaker. And instant coffee, which isn’t as beautiful, but it sure is easy to make.”
“You’re actually leaving?” I reiterate, and she lets out a long-suffering groan.
“Yes.” She plants a hand on her waist. “Now, can you please get undressed so I’m not the only one here standing in my underwear?”
My gaze dips to the white bra and lacy, baby-blue panties she’s wearing, and I blink, feeling simultaneously stunned, partially confused, and—I cough. Exhale. Pray to Saint Michael when my remaining brain cell fixates on the little bow of her bra. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll get on it.”
Her mouth parts in shock. “Oh my God, say it again. It’s super-duper rare to ever hear you agree so quickly without putting up a fight—”
Rolling my eyes, I grab the back of my shirt and haul it over my head. “If you wanted to see me naked, Bee, all you had to do was ask.”
She’s biting her lip while her attention lingers on my chest and—I almost snort—my arms.
“Should I give you a sneak peek of the gun show?” I tease, and she aims a mild stare at me in response.
“After you help me with my bra,” she answers, her tone as dry as the Sahara Desert, and she turns around, her back to me—Christ. She’s wearing a thong.
“Help you with your bra?” Jesus. My voice is pure gravel. Gritty and rough like asphalt.
“Mmhmm.” She arches her body, and I’m looking at her ass again like it’s the answer to my prayers while she peeks over her shoulder. “The clasps are so tricky, Ethan. So why don’t you… give me a hand?”
Her smoldering gaze meets mine. It’s not even a second before she breaks into a peal of laughter. A grin overtakes my lips when she doubles over and slaps her palms over her face.
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I protest. “I’m not even laughing.”
“Then what’s with the face?”
“I can’t help with what’s going on here,” I say, making a circular motion with my hand. “Genetics are beyond my control. I can only work with what my parents gave me.”
Her eyes crinkle. “You’re smiling.”
“Would you rather I frown at you?”
“I’d rather you take me seriously while I’m trying to work my magic and seduce you.”
I snort. “You don’t have to try so hard. Pass the captcha test I send you later, and I’m all yours.”
“Just for that,” she says, and I go stock-still as she unclasps her bra, “you owe me a dozen donut holes.”
“And not a dozen regular-sized donuts?”
“It’s about the glaze-to-donut ratio,” she says sweetly, and I fight my groan and stare pointedly at the ceiling when she slips one arm out of her bra, then the other. “Anyway, can you help me with the massage oils before they come in? Your hands are bigger than mine and can reach some spots—”
“What?” I somehow manage to choke on air, thumping my chest twice with a fist while she quickly puts her robe on.
“I’m kidding, Ethan.” Her lips curve into a soft grin when she turns to face me. “You can help me wash them off in the shower later—”
I don’t stop my groan. “Behave, Barbie.”
“And miss out on Operation Ethan?” Her creaky, stumbling laugh makes its first reappearance since the plane. “Never.”
“I cannot believe him,” Barbie huffs, waving her phone wildly.
“Does he not realize I have functioning eyes? I pay attention to things—I literally get paid to do this at the company. And I checked the schedule. I know that particular presentation happened yesterday. He didn’t even try with his bald-faced lie. ”
She spins on her feet, her eyes round as she glares up at me. My hands lift in defense.
“I had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m just so annoyed at all the run-around happening at the company—” She crinkles her nose, then inhales slowly. “You know what? I’m glad I’m leaving. I don’t have to deal with this headache for much longer.”
“You’re really set on leaving?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to do this my entire life,” she says. “No offense. I was only supposed to work at the company for a year, but…”
“The money was that good?” I deadpan.
“Kinda. I realized I wanted to go back and finish my master’s without worrying about student loans or rent,” she rambles. “Or having to juggle my classes, my internship, and work, which is a good thing, since I don’t want Betty to worry about us.”
“Wait, what?”
“It’s a long story,” Barbie says as she scans the convention center. “Something I’m uncomfortable talking about in a room filled with people.”
I scan the area. Every booth surrounding us looks identical to the ones here yesterday. Every table carries the same free swag. None of the presentations happening today are relevant to our roles at work.
Everything here is the same, down to the ironed blazers and dress shirts we’re both wearing. The only difference here is that Barbie plans on leaving the company. This week is the only time I’ll ever interact with her in person before she resigns as the QC lead and flounces off to better things.
I look at her, and the words come out of me before my brain even entertains the idea. “You wanna ditch and enjoy our honeymoon?”
“I don’t think I’m enjoying this as much as I thought I would,” Barbie whispers, standing on her tiptoes so that her lips can meet my ear.
“No? You don’t say?” I respond wryly. “Boardwalk tour didn’t clue you in that it’ll be a bored walk?”
She pulls away from me, straightening her pink-and-yellow striped shirt. “I thought it’d be a historic tour filled with plenty of cool facts.”
“Historic and cool do not belong in the same sentence.” I’m met with a dismissive hand wave. “What? Bee, name one cool fact about this place.”
Her forefinger jabs the air. “The Kraken was rumored to have been spotted here—”
“Good God. Don’t tell me you believe it existed.” I level her with a bewildered stare. “Are you on the same conspiracy boards as Aaron?”
“One, we don’t know what exists in the ocean’s depths,” she says. “Think of all undiscovered creatures in the trenches. Two, rewind a sec. Aaron’s on what?”
“Never mind,” I say, and her brows pull together. The last thing I want is for Aaron and Conspiracy Sam to have a third join their group.
“Yes mind,” she counters. “What kind of conspiracy boards are we talking about here? Like websites? The dot com? Registered with an actual domain and not some run-of-the-mill blog?”
“It’s just a page he made—”
“He made a site?”
“Temper your expectations,” I say. “It looks outdated, like something from the early aughts. Clunky. Illegible. Even has music auto-playing on the homepage.”
Her lips purse. “Are they sea shanties at least?”
“I’m not the one running the page,” I say. “How should I know?”
“It would be so on theme if they’re sea shanties.”
“I’ll pass on the information,” I lie, and something skeptical flickers across her features. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“Ethan, you’re using that voice you always use during our calls,” she says. “It’s the I’m disregarding everything you said but politely voice. I’ve heard it so many times.”
“I don’t—”
“There it is again.” A smile curls the edge of her lips, boldening when she unzips her purse. “Mind doing it on camera—”
“Barb—”
“Now that’s your I’m warning you but politely voice.” Her eyes crinkle. “You always get so growly.”
“Me? Growly?”
“You. Are. So. Growly.” She punctuates her last word with a gentle poke to my chest, breaking into a giggle when I catch her wrist before she pulls away. “I thought you didn’t believe in holding hands until marriage.”
“We’re married, aren’t we?” I deadpan.
“I don’t know, Ethan. This might be a little too PDA for me. Quick, let’s duck behind one of the buildings and get in on some hand-on-hand—” She makes a blustery sound, her fingers tightening around mine, as she steers me directly into a nearby shop.
“You want to cash in on your pistachio ice cream now?”
“I just saw the Flanders,” she gasps, her body going rigid when the door jingles open behind me. Following her line of sight, I spot our manager and his wife casually strolling into the parlor—too engrossed in their conversation to notice us. Yet.
Barbie and I exchange glances. We’re both in our civvies. She’s wearing a crop top that shows off her abs and denim shorts. To combat the heat, I’m decked in navy shorts and a light cotton shirt Aaron had snuck into my duffel bag. We are not dressed for the business conference.
Then again, neither is our manager.
But then again, he’s in a higher position at work, just three ranks below the CEO.
“Maybe I’ll get fired before I resign,” Barbie murmurs, sucking in a sharp breath when our manager’s boisterous laughter abruptly fills the crowded shop. I’ve never realized how loud he is until now, standing about two feet from him.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“A reasonable amount,” she stammers. “Why?”
“Don’t freak out,” I say, hooking my arms around her and pulling her flush to me. “And just go with it,” I add before I duck my head down to kiss her.