Good for You: A Novel (20)

She’d been trying to work on her strategy for revitalizing All Good—but focusing was nearly impossible. So she’d been passing the time by cleaning, and because Wyatt seemed intent on immediately undoing her efforts to keep the place remotely habitable, she had plenty to do. And yet straightening and sanitizing weren’t enough to fill all the hours. What did people do when they didn’t work all day? she wondered, scrubbing an unidentified sticky substance off a refrigerator shelf. A few brief days untethered from her computer, and she’d already decided that she was never, ever going to retire. This was awful.

Or maybe, she admitted as she tossed a decaying head of lettuce into the trash, she was just lonely. She’d put a call out to a few Realtors, and several were coming by that weekend. Maybe once she got that sorted out, she’d drive to Chicago to see Harry and his family.

Aly’d just finished cleaning the crisper drawer when she caught a whiff of something. It took her a second to realize said something was . . . her. Because in spite of her best intentions, she hadn’t actually showered since she’d arrived two days ago. Argh, Wyatt was already rubbing off on her! It was yet more evidence that she needed to get him to sell—but first, she had to convince him to have a conversation with her, as the last time they’d spoken was the previous morning when he’d made his stupid joke about her bladder. After ensuring that the fridge was no longer harboring E. coli, she headed upstairs to give herself the same treatment.

She liked to listen to music when she showered, though she hadn’t had much opportunity recently. Seth claimed the sounds of the city overstimulated him enough, so he preferred the apartment quiet (crypt-like, Aly thought in less charitable moments). But Seth wasn’t there to surreptitiously turn the volume down, so she hit the “Good Vibes” playlist on her phone and cranked it all the way up. Then she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the bathroom.

She was already making her way across the tile when she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d decided it was finally time to shower.

“Ahhh!” She quickly turned and pulled the door closed, but it was too late—the sight of Wyatt’s south side was burned into her brain. Granted, she’d seen worse things. And she had to admit that unlike Seth, he’d been genetically blessed with an un-hairy back. Also, when did bankers find time to work out? Then again, he hadn’t once mentioned banking, nor had she heard him on the phone or seen him on a laptop. Maybe he, like she, was on a sabbatical—though his was likely voluntary.

Her cheeks flamed hot as she grabbed the duvet off the bed and pulled it around her body and switched the music off. He wasn’t facing you, she reminded herself. He didn’t see you. But that did little to make her feel less . . . naked. “Sorry!” she yelled in the direction of the bathroom.

She heard a knocking sound. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from the other side of the bathroom door. Did he plan to harass her about her mistake? Berate her, even? He was the one who chose not to use the lock.

“What is it?” she said loudly.

“You decent?” he called back.

“Yes,” she said, at once indignant. “Are you?”

“Born that way,” he said, flinging the door open. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and he still hadn’t done anything about his Tom Hanks–in–Castaway beard.

“Don’t you want to put some clothes on?” she said, as though she wasn’t wearing a comforter.

He looked down. “I’m covered. And now who’s sneaking up on who?” he said, looking up at her with an arched eyebrow. “You at least get a good look?”

Her blood boiled. What was wrong with him? “Ugh! As if I’d even want to! There’s a lock, you know. And we clearly need to do something about this.” She glanced away, eager not to give him the impression she was spending any time observing his . . . flesh.

“This?” he questioned.

“Us.” She knew she sounded angry. But she was. “We need a schedule for the bathroom. Or you can use Luke’s.”

He stared at her, but it was a different kind of stare than before. This one radiated irritation. Maybe even fury. “A schedule?!”

“Yes. I can shower at night and use the downstairs bathroom at all other times,” she suggested, as she knew that neither of them would use Luke’s bathroom. “And you can—”

“No,” he interrupted.

She shook her head so hard it was a wonder she didn’t wrench her neck. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“Last time I checked, that word only had one meaning.”

Rude! “What’s wrong with a schedule?” she said, frowning. “I’d prefer not to walk in on you. Ever again.”

“I’m thirty-seven years old,” he said, but the way his eyes were burning, she could almost imagine him as a young child on the verge of a temper tantrum. “I don’t follow other people’s manuals for how to live.”

“It’s a plan, not a manual. To make both of our lives easier.” And less cringe-inducing, she added mentally. “And while we’re on the subject, this difficult living situation is one more reason we need to sell this place. Or . . .” She’d been hoping to have a longer, at least slightly more thoughtful, conversation about this, but it was readily apparent that Wyatt was not going to make himself available to her for such a thing. “You can buy me out.”