Chapter 10 Skylar
Skylar
I blink at my blank screen. “You can’t just call my friends.”
“Hi. Welcome back.” There’s concern etched on Pike’s features as he hands me my phone.
“Welcome back?”
“You were standing in the corner like a statue. I was trying to get your attention.”
I stare at him, thrown. Most people don’t notice how often I have to zone out just to keep functioning.
Or if they do, they don’t want to address it.
Chronic pain isn’t something they can fix, and sitting with someone else’s discomfort is hard.
Digging deeper feels messy, even awkward. It’s easier to move on. So they do.
But Pike noticed. Even more, he cared enough to do something about it. It feels strange, almost unsettling, to have someone push past the surface and actually see me. My whole life, outside the group, is masking how I really feel.
“David gave us towels.” Pike points to the full bed, upon which there are, indeed, two folded navy towels. “Please get in the shower and warm up.”
“Why don’t you go first?”
“I promised I’d keep you safe. That includes hypothermia.”
“But your clothes are wet too.”
“I’ll take them off while you shower. I doubt you’d appreciate me stripping in front of you.”
I might appreciate that, honestly. Especially in a reality that doesn’t involve all this fake dating, blackmailing, and freezing. This whole thing is already too surreal without adding thoughts of his naked body.
“Skylar. I don’t want hypothermia either.” His tight smile reflects the bone-deep exhaustion in his voice. If I don’t get a move on, Pike can’t either.
“I don’t have anything to wear after showering.”
He points to another small pile. “Pajamas.”
I work my way over there, my body stiff, and inspect a pair of pants. “Um…these are never going to fit me.”
“Hmm, yeah. David has tiny hips.”
I grimace at the long-sleeved shirts. “And a tiny chest.”
His gaze flicks to my chest for a fraction of a second, then back to the shirt. He coughs. “How wet are you?”
My cheeks heat. Everything is soaked minus my underwear, but I’m not telling him that.
“My T-shirt is mostly dry.” He runs a hand over his neck. “You can wear that to sleep, if you’d be more comfortable.”
“Okay.” Please let it fit. Please let it fit.
“I don’t think his clothes will fit me, either, though. I’m pretty broad,” he says, like it’s not obvious. “So…I’ll just be in my boxers.”
I swing my arms at my sides. “Better you than me.”
Based on Emy’s womanizer articles, I expect him to reach for the back neckline of his shirt and tug it over his head. A lot of men get cocky the second they’re given permission to remove clothing. But he just stands there waiting.
I head to the bathroom.
I don’t trust myself to stand, so I sit in the tub. It’s only once I’m under the steaming hot water that I realize how numb I am. How numb Pike must be outside the door. A small, unlocked door that barely shuts.
Sometime tonight, though, Pike became a reassuring presence. This nervousness I feel, knowing he’s out there taking off his clothes, and the bed that awaits us, is completely different. It only escalates when he knocks and sticks a hand in with his shirt.
I let the warm water soak the back of my neck. It’s all cramped up like it usually is in the evening. The shower is as close to a heat pack as I’ll get tonight.
I feel slightly more human afterward. I slink out of the bathroom in Pike’s shirt, the towel wrapped around my legs like armor. Pike sits on the rug, his back against the wall, with his coat draped over his upper body. His sweater lies next to him, soaked on the bottom like my dress.
“That, um.” His throat bobs. “That fits you well.”
The fabric stretches snugly across my chest, hugging the curves of my hips before it flares out just enough to tease the tops of my thighs.
I tug at the hem instinctively, like I might somehow coax it to cover more, but the motion just makes it pull tighter in all the wrong places, clinging in ways that make me far too aware of myself.
I throw him David’s pants. “Good luck with these.”
If his grimace is any indication, it costs him a lot to get back up. Once I hear the shower turn on, I triple-check that the bedroom door is locked before removing my towel. Pike’s shirt barely covers my butt.
I feel like this could lead to some awkward, accidental spooning, I tell the girls as I slide into bed and squint with one eye. There’s a 90% chance this shirt will ride up while I sleep and wrap itself around my boobs.
body heat is important in these dire situations. Oh, Emy.
He was sweet! Analia says. And thoughtful to call us. I bet you’d have to initiate any spooning.
He called you guys spontaneously. I hope it wasn’t weird.
it was fun! Emy says. now go play with ur fake boyfriend.
I rest my eyes before responding. Pike is used to dating supermodels. Him being in boxers is more of a courtesy.
Emy sends four flames. but u’d hook up with him.
In a different reality, yes. In this reality, I actually have to see the man more than once.
The truth is, I’m as much of a one-night stand type of person as Pike apparently is. Less frequently, of course. Much less frequently. Every once in a while, I go to a bar when I’m out of town for work. There’s also this guy, Marcus, who I hook up with whenever I’m in Ithaca.
Occasionally, I wonder if I’m missing out on something. If I should give relationships another chance. But then I see all the depressing posts in the group, and it reminds me.
Relationships don’t work when you’re sick.
If society hasn’t already convinced you that you’re a burden, a relationship will.
Instead of practicing self-love, you change so they’ll keep loving you.
You convince yourself to play down your concerns, because it’s more important to make the relationship work than to honor who you are.
I refuse to do that again. I know my worth. A hookup now and then is enough.
There’s a small TV in the bedroom. I can’t watch, but I need to do something besides lie here counting the spins with the seconds. And to avoid listening to Pike shower. Is he having a hard time balancing in there too? I wish all showers had seats.
I find the Game Show Network and close my eyes. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire comes on after the commercials. Which state has one bear to every twenty-one people?
“It’s C, Alaska.”
I startle at Pike’s deep voice behind me and mute the program. “I think it’s B, Wyom…” I trail off at the sight of him. Pike looks like he stepped out of a romance novel cover.
The flickering glow of the TV highlights the wide stretch of his shoulders and the muscular curves of his arms, emphasizing his impressive build. His defined chest still glistens from the shower, and the water catches the light in a way that accentuates every powerful line of his body.
And there are lines. Hard angles meet smooth planes as his stomach dips into a deep V-cut. My blood runs hot. That body is going to be next to mine all night.
“No more room in the bathroom with your stuff in there.” He carries his clothes awkwardly in front of his crotch, where I’m absolutely, 100 percent not looking. My eyes are up on his pecs where, on the left, he has a tiny roman numeral tattoo that looks like it starts with MMX—
“Skylar?”
“Maybe hang them on the blinds?” I respectfully sneak another peek while he loops his jeans over the curtain rod. My mouth all but waters.
His back is a testament to hard-earned athleticism. It flexes with a natural ease that sends his surgery scars rippling. His black boxer briefs highlight the narrowness of his waist and the strength in his legs.
Damn. That is one deliciously muscular butt.
His right thigh is smaller than his left. Scars and stretch marks cover his right knee. There’s black Kinesio tape on his legs in intricate lines that I bet Ranielle put on for him. I hope it helped him while we hiked through the snow.
A foil wrapper falls out of his jeans.
“You brought a condom!?”
“No!” He scrambles to pick it up. “I mean, yes, I brought it. Obviously. But only because Luis tossed me one. He thought it was a real date. Which it’s not. Obviously.”
I shrink back under the covers. “Obviously.”
He tucks the condom back into his pants and stands there, shivering.
“Well, come on,” I say. “Plenty of room in here.” There isn’t, but I’m going to ignore that.
The mattress dips as he climbs in. “I like this one. But The Price Is Right is better.”
“You don’t have to pretend you like it because I put that in our fake-relationship story.”
He hits my feet with his feet and retracts like he’s been burned. “The Game Show Network always played at rehab. I thought you were the one pretending.”
“I have a lot of game show apps on my phone. I play them when I’m in waiting rooms because they don’t require internet.”
I think he nods, but I’m keeping my eyes glued on the vicinity of the screen.
There’s less than one inch between our bare legs, and that one inch electrifies the air around us.
My eyes already sting, and now they all but water.
The pillow is a brick against my head. Falling asleep is already hard at home, so it’s going to be impossible here.
We let the show run for a few commercials. Pike is more enthusiastic than I expected—especially when it comes to arguing with me about the correct answer.
Ninety percent of the time, he’s right.
“No fair,” I say. “I practice all the time.”
“Mad skills.” He’s all smug. “Hey, we should take a picture. I need some on my phone in case Mom comes snooping.”
I tug self-consciously on the shirt he lent me. “Just lock your phone.”
“She could ask to see more pics.” When I remain silent, he juts his lip out in a pout. “Please?”
Does he actually expect me to resist that face? I sit up straighter and smile at the camera.