Chapter 8
Chapter eight
I zombie walk into the living room and freeze when I see Sasha sleeping on the couch.
I’m dressed in my oldest tattered pajamas, my hair’s a bird's nest on top of my head, and star-shaped pimple patches are scattered across my face. He wasn’t home when I fell asleep last night, so I just assumed he wouldn’t be here this morning.
Every other morning, I’ve made myself at least halfway presentable before coming into the common area. For what, I’m not sure. In hopes of seducing the extremely sexy, extremely uninterested guy sleeping on my couch? Sure.
For the first morning since I’ve moved in here, I try to be as quiet as possible. He really would sleep right through our filming if I didn’t wake him up, though. I’ll just make myself some matcha, sneak back into the bathroom, freshen up, then wake him up.
My plan to be quiet couldn’t be going any worse. I don’t think I’ve been this loud in my life. So far, I’ve tripped over something on the floor, dropped my cup, and accidentally slammed the refrigerator door. Every time I wince, thinking that he’ll wake up, but so far, he’s been dead to the world.
I’m starting to believe I’ll make it out of here with success when the microwave beeping finally does the trick.
“What the fuck is that?” he groans.
I’m frozen in place with a grimace still on my face when he comes marching into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers. “Lucy. What the hell are you doing in here? Are you trying to wake up the whole city? Jesus Christ!"
“Sorry,” I squeak out, forcing myself to smile.
“I was trying to be quiet…I just wanted to make my morning matcha before I got ready for the day.” Oh yes.
I forgot about my current state. And now he’s less than ten feet away.
Great. “Do you want some?” I ask, trying to deflect his attention to the cup I’m holding up.
He walks toward me, and I can feel my heart beating in my chest the closer he gets. When he’s an arm’s length away, he reaches for my cup. I hand it over and watch as he stares at the foamy green liquid inside.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks, swirling the matcha around.
“It’s matcha…”
“It’s fucking green.”
I walk over to the fridge and pull out a glass of store-bought kombucha. “You can try this if you don’t want green. I’m making my own, but it won’t be ready for a week or two.”
He swaps beverages with me and takes a sip of the fermented tea before immediately spitting it out. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lucy, what the fuck is this?”
“It’s kombucha! I’m making…”
“Your own. I know. I heard,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Is that the shit on the window?”
Before I can answer, he’s crossed the kitchen, grabbed the jars, and thrown them in the trash. I’m too stunned to open my mouth until he reaches for my sourdough starter. “No!” I yell. “That’s my sourdough! Please don’t throw that away.”
“Fine,” he says, setting the jar back down. “I actually like sourdough. You can keep that one.”
We stand there looking at each other for what seems like forever. I’m growing more and more self-conscious by the minute. Embracing silence has never been a strength of mine either. “So, um…we should probably get ready for filming?”
“Nope, no filming today,” he says, walking out of the room only to return with a folded paper.
I don’t even realize how close he’s standing as he hands it to me, reading it over my shoulder.
Oh…
“So, um…what game are we supposed to be playing?” I ask, handing the note back to Sasha.
“Twister,” he deadpans.
I spit out my drink, causing him to look at me quizzically. “We’re supposed to be playing nude Twister?”
For the first time since I met him, he chuckles. And damn, I could melt into a puddle right here on the kitchen floor. “Yep, seems like it.”
“Fucking fuck me,” I say, causing him to laugh even harder.
His mood seems to have lightened as he eyes my cup of matcha and reaches for it again. “Okay, I’ll give this a try.” He sighs before taking a swig.
He doesn’t immediately spit it out like the kombucha, which I take as a good sign, but he’s just standing in place, looking down into the cup.
Without saying a word, he hands it back to me and walks away.
I follow him into the living room, where he quietly gets dressed and makes his way to the door, grabbing his keys on the way.
“Where are you going?” I ask, as if it’s any of my business where this man goes.
He doesn’t slow or turn around to answer, just keeps walking toward the door. “To get you a goddamn espresso machine.”
Left to my own devices for the first time since moving into the cottage has me, well, bored. This past week has been so overwhelming that I haven’t really had time to take it all in. Recounting the events reminds me that this is not normal.
First, I’m given a trust of five million dollars from an anonymous source, the only clue being ties to the Sinclair family.
Second, upon arriving in the city they reside in, a stranger helps me get a job working for Blanche.
Third, the job is basically acting out sexual content between Blanche and her late husband, who is a very likely candidate for the man who left me this money.
Meaning it’s very likely that this man is my long-lost father.
Which means there is a good chance I’m about to start acting out sex scenes that took place with my dad.
Fuck my life. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Why did it take me so long to connect those dots?
I need to figure out if I’m related to the Sinclairs so I can continue with this gig or pull a hard stop. And lucky for me, everyone is gone right now, making it the perfect time to snoop around in the main house.
I’m about to give up after wandering around for close to thirty minutes when an idea hits me out of nowhere as I walk past the nursery. If I’m related to the Sinclairs, I would share DNA with any one of these babies.
Walking into the room, I begin searching for anything that might contain some DNA. I’m sure any saliva has been sanitized, but I might be able to find some loose strands of hair. And it doesn’t matter which baby it’s from. I just need a brush, or a comb, or a bow!
A ribbon hangs beside each of the girls’ cribs, both lined with hairbows.
The crib closest to me belongs to one of the twins, I believe, so I start there.
After several misses, I finally find one with a small clump of hair stuck in the fastener.
Oh, poor MJ… but thanks, girl. I pocket the bow, not bothering with pulling them free, and walk as casually as I can back to the cottage.
The moment I’m inside, I run to my room to pull out my computer.
My search is easier than I thought it would be, and it doesn’t take long to find a reputable DNA matching site with good reviews.
It’ll take a month or so to get everything sent off and the results to come in, but it’s closer than I’ve ever been to finding out about my father.
After a lovely nap, I stop to freshen up in the bathroom, then make my way to the kitchen. The kitchen where my very attractive roommate is installing a fancy-looking espresso machine.
“You really went and got one of those? You didn’t have to do that.”
Sasha doesn’t even turn from where he’s working.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Sunshine. And yes, I absolutely did. We are going to drink coffee in the mornings like normal fucking people. No more of that green shit or whatever the hell chemistry project you had in the window. Can you hand me one of the screws on the counter, please?”
I do as he asks, closing the gap between us and handing him one of the last screws in the pile. “How did you know I was asleep?”
Please don’t say you saw me. Please don’t say you saw me.
“I heard you snoring.”
That’s even better. Fantastic. “Oh, I…I’m sorry.”
Sasha finally straightens from where he’s working and turns to face me with a look of confusion on his face. “Why would you apologize for that? I don’t give a fuck if you snore. I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
I’m not sure why my first reaction is disappointment.
I mean, sure, he’s quite easily one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, but I’ve spent half my life on a beach back home.
I’m no stranger to a half-naked man with muscles.
And it’s not like I haven’t messed around with plenty of them.
So what is it about this man that always has me on edge?
I realize I’ve been frowning, and now the object of my vexation has noticed.
Sasha smirks and slowly bridges the distance between us. “Aww, don’t be sad, Sunshine. It’s not you. I don’t share a bed with anyone.” He pauses to place his arms on the counter, boxing me in. “Although I don’t mind visiting from time to time.”
I’m shaking as he pulls back, full on laughing at me. “God, you're adorable. Come on, Sunshine, we should get started on this game. I have a feeling we’re going to be at it for a while before you’re comfortable enough with me.”
Fuck me, I forgot all about that stupid game. There’s no way I’m going to get through this. I suppose Blanche is right, though. If this is my reaction to a private evening playing Twister, I need the practice before I pretend to have sex in a room full of people.
Again, my roommate must read my face like a book. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe. We don't have to be completely naked.” Okay, so less read my face and more notice I’m borderline hyperventilating.
“Look at me. We don’t have to go completely nude today. We can start slow. Whatever you're comfortable with.”
I do my best to nod while he holds my head steady, and take a deep breath. A bra and panties are no different from a swimsuit. And boy, have I worn some skimpy ones in my day. “Okay, let me go take a quick shower, and I’ll meet you back out here? Is underwear okay?”