Bend (33 page)

Out in the hallway, the bathroom door clicks shut.

Shit. Paige. I grimace, dread slicing through me. There will be a reckoning. It’s unavoidable. I love my sister, but she’s probably the only person who kind of scares me.

Except for the person lying next to me right now. But he’s frightening in an entirely different way.

His silence lasts a half dozen heartbeats. “What happened in those dreams?”

Letting out an exasperated huff, I roll over onto my back. I’m regretting telling him about this now, because it’s not something I want to talk about.

Then again, he just made me come four times. Suppose I should play nice. He’s earned it.

“I don’t remember exactly,” I tell him, “but I know at least once I had an orgasm while still asleep.”

He goes so quiet that I’m pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. “Like, a real one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow,” he says after a short pause. “I didn’t know that happened to women.”

A snort-laugh bursts from my chest. “Yes,
Dr.
Bradshaw, that happens to women. And it’s a lot less messy than when it happens to guys.”

“Huh,” is his only reply.

Learn something new every day, I guess?

Seconds tick by, and I brace myself for his next question, but it doesn’t come. I know what it would be if our roles were reversed, and I can ask it of myself.

Does that kind of mean you cheated on Fuckface before he cheated on you?

The answer, of course, is no. You can’t control your dreams. And they don’t really mean anything. Yeah, your emotional state can impact what kind of dreams you have—stress can cause nightmares—but the actual content of your dreams? It has no significance. Dreams are essentially meaningless.

I read that on the Internet, and therefore it’s true.

Never mind that I thought Jay was hot from the moment I first met him. Which, again, didn’t really mean anything. I was crazy about Matt, and Jay was my boyfriend’s attractive roommate. Thinking he was cute was a dispassionate observation, similar to the way I’d admire a nice car or beautiful scenery.

Exactly when that changed, I’m not sure.

God, the things he did to me tonight. I’m still feeling numb and dazed, and that’s only partially due to the alcohol I consumed at the party still flowing through my veins.

Mostly it’s him. I’m drunk on Jay.

I don’t want to lie here beside him right now, with this space between us that’s at once tangible and impalpable. I want to be in his arms. Our legs tangled, absently caressing—touching each other just because. It’s been almost a month since the first time we had sex, and that need has only grown stronger since.

Running bone-deep, it’s a desire that I can’t explain or rationalize. I’m not a needy person. I’ve slept with guys without feeling bereft of intimacy afterwards, without experiencing that loss of connection like a severed limb.

Matt never gave me the chance to feel like this. He was always touching me. Holding hands wherever we went—walking down the street, driving a car, in the movie theater. I loved how he couldn’t keep his hands off me.

I loved
him.

And just like that, I know. It hits me like a kick in the gut. Like a punch in the face. Like being held underwater while fighting, clawing, scrambling desperately to break free and make it back up to the surface.

I know—
I fucking realize
—that I’m never going to feel like that again. Matt was my first love, and that only happens once. I’m never going to be that young again. Never going to be so simply and blissfully in love. Will never love someone with blinders on again.

Which means I’ll never be that happy again.

It’s a bleak and depressing thought.

And the messed up thing is, I still want Jay to hold me. Want it more, in fact.

“Are you waiting for it to get quiet out there?” he asks drowsily beside me.

I swallow hard against the knot in my throat. Take calming breaths in and out through my nose. “Yeah,” I say when I’m confident my voice will hold, “I’m pretty sure if I run into Paige she’s going to yell at me.”

Jay acknowledges that with a sleepy grunt, and then he falls silent.

The bathroom door squeaks. A few seconds later I hear the soft click of Paige’s bedroom door.

Closing my eyes, I wait a while longer just to be safe. Until I decide the coast has to be clear for going to the bathroom without running into anyone—and my need to pee starts to get urgent.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb Jay, I push myself up to my feet. Fumbling around in the dark, I somehow manage to find my panties on the floor. Search for my suitcase and discover it by stubbing my toe on it, letting out a choked squeak at the pain. Kneeling down, I have to feel my way around to find the tank top and pajama pants I packed. It’d be really great if I had my phone to use as a flashlight.

Oh, crap. My phone. My clutch. Both must still be downstairs by the front door along with my shoes. Guess I’ll have to go down and fetch them. Pretty sure it’s embarrassingly obvious why I left them there.

After pulling the clothes on, I pad to the door, opening it slowly so it’ll be quiet.

And almost stumble over my shoes and my purse, which are sitting right outside the door. The shoes are placed neatly side by side, the clutch resting on top of them.

Paige.

That’s why she knocked. A rush of warmth spreads in my chest. My big sister, always watching out for me. Which, to be honest, is more frequently nice than it is annoying.

Plucking my phone out, I toss the clutch and the shoes into my bedroom, shutting the door. I tap the power button on my phone as I head to the bathroom, the way there illuminated by the recessed lights on the ceiling.

There’s a text message from my mom. Unease twisting in my stomach, I type in my passcode to read it.

Grandma’s not upset. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Well. That’s both comforting and ominous, isn’t it? Ugh.

Still tapping around on my phone, I grasp the bathroom door handle. Immediately it’s snatched out of my grasp as the door opens, swinging inward.

“Oh, my God!” I breathe out with a squeak, involuntarily jumping back a step.

Paige stands in the doorway.

Placing my free hand on my chest, I feel my heart pounding under my palm. “You startled me. I thought you were in bed already.”

Paige is still wearing her simple, black, empire-waisted cocktail dress, but she’s tied her hair up in a messy bun and removed her makeup. Arching her eyebrows, she says, “I thought you were, too.”

“Um…” I have no idea how to respond to that. I
was
in bed…kind of? But not really. Heat floods my cheeks. Shit. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.

My only hope is to play it cool.

“You done?” I ask, gesturing past her at the bathroom.

Saying nothing, Paige takes a step back, opening the door wider. Inviting me in.

Oh-kay. I brush past her into the bathroom. And once I’m there, it’s like my brain sends a signal to my bladder that a toilet is nearby, because my urge to pee goes from somewhat pressing to seriously urgent. Clenching my pelvic muscles, I glance back at my sister, who’s still standing by the open door, staring at me.

“Can I have some privacy?” I ask politely.

Wordlessly, she shuts the door. With herself still in the room.

Seriously? Well, fuck it. This will probably be more awkward for her than me, anyway. Between the two of us,
I’m
not the bashful one.

Setting my phone down on the marble vanity, I cut across the small room to the porcelain bowl. After lifting the lid, I shove down my pants and underwear and sit down on the toilet seat, holding Paige’s gaze the whole time. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or look away. When my bladder is empty, I break eye contact with her to yank several sheets off the toilet paper roll.

“Why did you lie?”

I look back up at my sister. Her tone is calm, but I know her. I can hear the edge under that calm, the anger she’s bridling.

“About what?” I widen my eyes at her as I reach down to wipe myself. And then I can’t stop my grimace as I forget to be gentle, because things are more than a little bit…tender down there.

With narrowed eyes, Paige replies in a high-pitched and mocking voice. “Oh, Jay and I can share a bed. No, it’s not weird. We’re just friends. Nothing is going on.”

Even though I knew that was coming, I’m still squirming inside. Looking away from her, I pull my clothes back up as I stand up. Then I pull the lid down and flush the toilet.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, I move over to the sink, and while squirting soap into my hand, I say, “We
are
just friends.”

Paige lets out a snort. Turning on the faucet, I notice from the corner of my eye as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I saw you,” she hisses out. “I saw you on the dance floor. And then you just leave the party without a word? Are you going to lie and say you weren’t screwing him in your bedroom just now?”

Whoa. Scrubbing my sudsy hands under the warm water, I throw her a look. My sister never uses crude words unless she’s really pissed off. My heart starts beating harder, and it’s a struggle to sound lighthearted as I click my tongue and say, “Language, Paige.”

She glares at me, her lips pinched.

Heaving a sigh, I turn off the faucet and reach for the hand towel. “So I’m having sex with Jay. It’s not a big deal. And it’s nobody else’s business.”

Paige stays silent while I dry my hands. The apple-scented soap teases my nose. My mom spends a lot of money on stuff that smells good.

“Having sex,” my sister echoes in a monotone. “With Jay.”

“Yeah. Like, friends with benefits? Not really something I wanted to discuss with Mom.” Plucking my toiletry bag from where I put it in the cabinet under the sink earlier, I unzip it and rummage around until I find my flosser. After digging it out, I turn back to face my sister as I lean back against the sink and start flossing my teeth.

And discover that Paige is eyeing me with a look of naked disgust and disbelief. It’s an expression I might deserve if I’d just told her I’m taking a year off work to go on a trip around the world, which I’ve financed by taking out a massive loan at a cutthroat interest rate.

Or if I said that I’d had a drunken hookup with a stranger and married him the next day.

But the thing is, she’d give me that same death stare if I confessed to forgetting to pay a parking ticket. My sister has no sense of proportion when it comes to her moral superiority. Wrong is wrong, and Paige is always right.

“Wha?” I challenge her with the flosser in my mouth. She’s going to say what she wants to say regardless. No reason for me to pause my tooth-cleaning routine.

With a slow shake of her head, she replies, “It just seems like a dumb decision.”

Okay. I’m officially at my limit for how much of her unsolicited opinions and judgment I can stomach in one night. Jerking open my toiletry bag and digging out my toothbrush and toothpaste, I snap at her, “How about you worry about your own love life and keep your nose out of mine?”

A long and heavy moment passes before she asks sharply, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t we talk about why Logan is sleeping in the den? Huh?” I glance at her while squeezing toothpaste onto my brush. “And don’t give me that garbage about his phone ringing and the bed being too small.”

Paige blinks at me and visibly stiffens. She says nothing, so I turn on the faucet for a second to splash water on my toothbrush, and then I start brushing. As the minty toothpaste overwhelms my taste buds, I quickly scrub the bristles across my teeth while stubbornly holding my sister’s gaze.

Her silence says too much. Jesus Christ. I was only shooting off my mouth like usual. Because that’s what I do, and because I wanted to shut her up. I wasn’t trying to hit a nail at all, and definitely not on the head.

Is my sister’s marriage in serious trouble? It’s a terrifying thought.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Mia,” she finally says, her voice subdued.

Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I take a break from brushing to ask, “Why would I be?”

It’s an honest question, and I ask it mildly.

“I just don’t want to get another phone call in the middle of the night,” she answers simply.

I flinch at the instant flashback. Me, half-drunk and heartbroken, calling my sister to tell her what Matt had done to me. Her, driving up from San Diego in the dark of night. Because she’s my big sister and I needed her.

Paige shuts her eyes for a moment, expelling a heavy breath. And then she crosses over to me and wraps me up in a hug. “Good night.”

With a quick and dry peck on my cheek, she adds, “Please be careful.”

My heart in my throat, I stand there and watch her walk away toward the door. My hand hangs at my side, clutching my toothbrush.

As Paige twists the door handle, I collect myself enough to say, “Thanks for bringing my stuff upstairs.”