Erasing Faith(88)

I tried not to let that bother me when I plunked down on the toilet and started to pee. Maybe I would’ve been fine, if it hadn’t been so many hours since I last relieved myself. Maybe, if I hadn’t chugged a half-gallon of water after my cleaning marathon, I could’ve done the deed and remained entirely aloof about the whole ordeal.

Or, maybe not.

All I knew was, as soon as my ass hit porcelain, I was peeing like a racehorse. And it lasted forever — one of those pees that’s so long, it’s embarrassing even when you’re the only one to witness it, all alone in the privacy of your bathroom. Except I wasn’t alone, and the damn witness to my humiliation was my satanic maybe-soulmate, standing inches away.

The steady streaming sound was so loud, it seemed to echo back at me from all sides.

Thirty seconds passed and I began to pray it was almost over, though I knew I still had half a tank left to empty.

At forty seconds, I felt my cheeks beginning to flush with mortification.

At fifty, I was ready to curl up in a ball and die, rather than face Wes after this.

When I neared the minute mark, I heard a chuckle from the other side of the curtain and dropped my head into my hands with a groan. This was even worse than my dirt-eating dive from the trunk.

Finally, finally, I expelled every last drop from my bladder and flushed away the evidence of my embarrassingly long pee. I took my sweet time changing into pajamas. Only when I was sure the color had faded from my cheeks, did I dare pull back the curtain and step out to face him.

His eyes immediately met mine and I was pleased to see they held no teasing. My gaze swung swiftly away and I beelined for the duffel, repacking my dirty clothes and pretending I was in no way embarrassed. I’d just zipped my bag closed when I heard a muffled laugh from the other side of the cabin.

My eyes snapped back in Wes’ direction, but I found his face bore no traces of amusement.

“What are you laughing at?” I growled, glaring for all I was worth.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. His expression was the picture of innocence.

“Good.”

I’d begun to turn again when his stone-faced facade cracked and a snort escaped. I watched as his expression filled with mirth — a full-out grin on his lips, the skin on his forehead crinkling, a happy light dancing in his eyes. He was so handsome in that moment, looking at me with sheer joy on his face, that it was hard to hold onto my anger.

Hard — but not impossible.

When his chuckles turned to full-blown laughter, I narrowed my eyes on his face and gave him my best death-stare.

“This isn’t funny,” I grumbled angrily. “I don’t understand why you’re so amused.”

“You know…” He stopped laughing just long enough to gasp out a reply. “They used to call Secretariat ‘Big Red.’”

His eyes pressed closed and his shoulders shook uncontrollably as he laughed at his own joke.

My lips twitched, despite myself. “Oh, piss off,” I muttered.

His bark of laughter reached my ears and I made sure to turn away before he could see the small smile on my lips.

***

The cabin lights were off and I was securely beneath the bedcovers — the quilt was pulled practically to my chin, covering every inch of flesh besides my face. I’d stacked two pillows against my left side, effectively dividing the bed in half, and was huddled as close to the mattress edge as physically possible. Pressing my eyes closed, I relaxed my features into what I hoped was a peaceful, unconscious expression and feigned sleep.

Better that than face Wes when he decided to make an appearance.

I heard the screech of the screen door opening a few moments later, and my entire body tensed in anxious anticipation. The thumping of my heartbeat matched the steady echo of his boots against the hardwood as he crossed the small room toward the bed. When his footsteps faded into silence, I lay as still as possible, struggling to keep my expression serene and my breathing rate even.

A minute passed.

I fought the urge to twitch.

One more ticked by.

My nose itched like a bastard but I didn’t move.

I counted sixty more seconds in my head until, finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. My eyelids slivered open and I peeked out from beneath my lashes.

He was standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed over his chest in a casual stance, staring at me with an amused expression. His quirked eyebrow said Did you really think I was buying your terrible fake sleeping act? and the twisted smile playing out on his lips asked Do you truly believe your pillow barricade and paper-thin blanket will protect you from me if I want to touch you, Red?

I gulped.

He grinned.

I glared.

He reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it.

Crap.

I flipped over and faced the wall, wincing as I listened to the unmistakable sound of his clothing dropping to the floor. A few seconds later, the quilt lifted, he slipped into bed, and I was forced to concede that he’d been right: my paltry pillow shield felt perilously thin, now that he was reclined mere inches from me. The darkness seemed to thicken and the air grew heavy as I listened to him settling in, heard the tired sigh he released as his body relaxed for the first time in days.

The teeming dark, swimming as it was with secrets and lies, felt somehow safer than facing him in the light of day. Lying there in the shadows, still and silent, with his skin so close to mine I imagined I could feel his heat through the pillows dividing us, he was more threatening than he’d ever been… and yet, also far less.