Good Girl(52)

Twenty-Four





LYDIA



I wonder if I look different? If everyone will know I had all the sex this weekend just by looking at me? I peer at myself in Rhys' bathroom mirror and blush. That is the most embarrassing thought ever. And stupid. No one is going to look at me and just know. Besides they were probably doing the same thing all weekend because everyone has sex. Even me.

For example, I will not see Rhys in the office today and imagine what he looks like naked. I will not. If I bump into him in the break room on four I will only think normal thoughts about him. Totally normal, fully clothed thoughts. Because I'm a grown woman and a professional person.

If by chance I happen to pass him in the hallway I will not imagine what he looks like with a towel wrapped around his waist while he stands in front of the mirror shaving. Nope. Absolutely not. In fact, I'm going to stop staring at him right now and try to remove this memory from my brain so it doesn't accidentally pop up later.

"What's wrong?" he asks while I fidget in front of the mirror without looking at him. I just woke up and stumbled in here to pee and found him already out of the shower and—by the looks of it—nearly done shaving. I'd have turned around and used one of the other bathrooms but the toilet in here is in its own private little room, which is the best invention ever because I'm never going to like Rhys a peeing-in-front-of-him amount. I don't think. Unless we get married and have babies and he watches me give birth. Maybe after that it'd be okay to pee in front of him. Firm maybe.

"Nothing." I shrug and grab my toothbrush because I have a toothbrush in Rhys' bathroom. Just a normal Monday morning. I add toothpaste and shove it in my mouth to keep myself from talking. Then I side-eye Rhys again in that towel, except he's done shaving and he's tossed the towel into a basket and is walking naked into his closet and how is a girl not supposed to remember exactly what his naked ass looks like? How? I'm not a magician for crying out loud. I can't just make that visual disappear from my brain. Besides, I don't want to. I want to compose a memo detailing exactly how great his ass looks for every unfortunate female—and any interested male, no hate—who hasn't been lucky enough to be blessed by it firsthand. Which reminds me…

"So, um the office. This," I say, waving a finger between us when he returns fully dressed, knotting a tie around his neck. "The office," I repeat with another wave as I rinse my toothbrush.

"I'll take care of it," he says and then he winks at me and tells me to have a nice lunch and he's gone. Goodness, he starts work early.

Wait.

Lunch?

Oh, God, he's referring to my lunch with Payton. Referring to hearing Payton ask me for a sex recap during our lunch.

That is… embarrassing.

But he seemed like he was amused so I don't think he minds? Also he worked extra hard at the sex last night so perhaps he reminded me about lunch because he's hoping for a good review.

I take a long shower and dawdle while getting ready because I have the time. I'm up earlier than usual and I've got no commute, which is convenient, even if living in a hotel is a bit weird.

Weird but sorta cool. Unlike not having groceries. That's just weird weird, no matter what Rhys thinks about room service being convenient, I'm not about to call room service every time I want to eat so I'll have to fix the food situation if I'm going to survive a month here. Also he's got a coffeepot and coffee, but no creamer and no organic natural sweetener so what is even the point?

No point at all. Thank goodness for the fancy coffee machine in the break room. That will do for today while I figure out the rest.

Once I'm ready I leave the apartment—or suite; I'm really not sure how to refer to it—and take the private elevator to the fourth floor. Rhys gave me a keycard yesterday that opens his apartment door and accesses the private elevator. He also showed me where the private elevator opens on four so I wouldn't be lost today. I guess he knew he'd be going in to work earlier than me. Which is fine, it's not like I expected him to take the same elevator with me to work. We're not carpooling or anything, just living together and having sex. And getting along well and enjoying each other’s company. That's it. I'm absolutely not falling for him. There's only maybe a solid fifty-five percent chance that is happening.

Once I get to work I drop my handbag at my desk. I still brought it to work because it felt weird to leave it upstairs, but it sorta felt unnecessary to bring it when I don't need my car keys or wallet and I already have a spare Chapstick in my desk drawer. This hotel living thing really does come with its own set of complications. Then I head for the break room to fuel up before I start work. Early, like the productive employee I am.

My boss Bethany is productive too because she's already in the break room using the fancy latte machine when I arrive. She smiles and says good morning and comments about how early I am this morning, which I appreciate because verbal acknowledgment is almost as good as a badge.

"Did you have a good weekend?"

I did. I so did.

"Yes, thank you." I mentally pat myself on the back because I'm positive I said that in a normal I-did-not-have-sex tone.

"You look different," she comments idly as she grabs a granola bar from the stash of free snacks arranged in open glass jars on the countertop.