Page 32 of Done with You

He thought she’d told Rayma about them. She could tell by the way his skin went lily-white and his mouth dropped open. Then his eyes darted back and forth between both women like he was watching a tennis match.

It helped immensely that Rayma had looked at the guys right before she toppled over into another laughing fit. And Aiden—being the self-absorbed idiot that he was—assumed that she was looking at him and laughing, when in reality she was looking at her fiancé.

She’d just told Oona a story about Jordan and how Rayma had—in her filter-free way—embarrassed him. They’d gone to a hot yin yoga class together, since Rayma figured it would help Jordan learn to relax after a stressful day “fighting crime” and “chasing The Joker and Penguin around Gotham.” Only, they went to the class in the evening, after dinner. And that night for dinner, she made turkey chili. Well, poor Jordan got gassy, and when he lifted his legs into the air for happy baby, he let out a pretty loud and smelly fart.

Rayma hadn’t even gotten to the best part, and already she and Oona had tributaries of tears running down their cheeks, and Oona’s face hurt from smiling.

“I mean, farts are a natural bodily function. A buildup of methane gas. It’s gotta go somewhere, right?” Rayma said between giggles. “Otherwise, we’re uncomfortable. And they’re so cute coming out of babies. Like when Raze and Eve farted, we all thought it was adorable.” Raze and Eve were Pasha’s kids, Oona and Rayma’s nephew and niece. “But suddenly, we hit a certain age and farts become gross.”

“I mean, to men, I don’t think they’re ever gross. I think men always find them funny,” Oona countered.

“In certain circumstances, yes. But I think we need to just erase the stigma. Everyone farts. Even the Crown Prince of Monaco. And I’m sure he farts a lot given his rich diet.”

Oona snorted. “Probably.”

“So, I simply patted Jordan on the arm and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, but not so loud that I disturbed their meditation, ‘It’s okay, Lassie, that just means you’re really relaxed. Then in solidarity, I farted, too.”

Oona gasped and started to laugh again.

“He didn’t like that. Got really red in the face and pissed off at me. Then our whole corner of the room smelled like turkey chili and people started coughing. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have farted in solidarity. But I did it out of love.”

It was at this point that Jordan and Aiden walked back into the house. Oona and Rayma were in stitches. Rayma looked up at her fiancé and just doubled over again with laughter.

But Aiden thought they were laughing about him, and Oona was under no obligation or interest to correct his assumption.

She hopped into the shower first, ahead of the tall jerk with the chiseled jaw and sexy back, then yanked on her comfy plaid pajama pants, a black tank top, and a gray McGill hoodie. She was just putting her hair in a braid when there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Other people need to shower, too,” came his rough and smoky grumble.

“Yeah?” she replied, deciding that today she would brush her teeth for an extra couple of minutes.

“Yeah.”

“Be out soon,” she sung.

She would not be out soon.

She finished braiding her wet hair, then she did her nighttime moisturizing routine—something she easily could have done in the mirror in the guestroom—then she brushed and flossed, and finally, at long last, she emerged from the steamy bathroom.

“Leave me any fucking hot water?” he growled, passing her in the doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder. He was so big beside her that his hand brushed her arm, and heat raced through her from that connection point.

“I’m sure your hot head will warm it up if I didn’t,” she replied sweetly.

Jordan and Rayma had retired to bed, closing their door. It was just Oona and Aiden now, along with their big secret and the tightly wound tension twanging and buzzing between them.

“We agree not to tell them, right?” she asked, turning to face him once she was out of the bathroom and before he shut the door. “That this week is about them, not about our …”

His brows lifted.

“Drama,” she finished.

His single nod was curt and to the point before he shut the door in her face.

She narrowed her gaze at the closed door, huffed out a frustrated breath, then spun on her heel and stalked to the guestroom, closing the door behind her.

She didn’t toss and turn much before she finally fell asleep, but the tossing and turning that did happen was because of the thoughts that rattled around in her brain like marbles in a tin can.

Aiden, naked in the shower, and only a thin layer of drywall between them.

She’d seen him naked. Had run her tongue across the smooth ridges of his abs, kissed the silky skin of his chest and clavicle, but that only made it worse.

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