Page 19 of Live Love Steal
“Fuck you. No one asked you to look.” Then Sketch called out to me, “Iz? There’s a closet at the foot of the bed. Take anything you want. I’ll be right out.”
A few moments later, I heard the bathroom door shut and water running. Then the toilet flushed.
Meanwhile, I tore through the closet, finding a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie that had streaked lightning or barbed flames dripping from the shoulders and splotches of paint in other places. It was well-worn and soft against my skin. And it was thick enough that “Bear” wouldn’t be able to see my nipples through it. I searched the floor for my clothes, but only found my skirt and one shoe. Where the fuck was my underwear?
I found my shirt on the floor outside the garage door.
I froze. Bear still looked like a mountain of a human despite sitting on one of the bar stools. I opted to ignore him for the time being. I scanned the floor and found my other shoe and my jacket, but the rest of my clothing had been swallowed by Sketch’s house.
Bear made a noise. I looked up at him.
He tipped his head and discreetly pointed toward the coat hook I’d hung my bra on.
I snatched it off. Yeah, I’d put it there.
I had everything in hand when Sketch exited the bathroom, and I took his place. Hastily, I got everything on.
Except underpants.
I’d placed them right at the door of his bedroom. They should have been right next to my left shoe. “Okay, you can do this. Walk out there and find the damn things. No one’s going to know.” It was only a whispered pep talk. I smoothed my hair and searched for something to brush it with, but came up empty.
How on earth do men survive without grooming?
Oh, sure, there was a razor, some creams of dubious ages, but nothing resembling a comb or brush, or… ew.
The condom was right on top of the heap of tissues and other things in the garbage can. It was like a huge neon sign screaming, “LOOK AT ME! LOOK! I’M STILL COVERED IN PUSSY JUICE!”
Ugh. I could do this. Fake it. You’re iron. Strong, confident…
My expression reflected back at me in the mirror mocked me. I looked fucked. Hard.
I checked my neck for hickeys or other evidence that I’d just been utterly wanton for hours on end.
Shit! Hours.
I needed to get home, prep for my meeting, exfoliate, get the pink out of my hair… go over all the stupid ways my boss would say something fucking wrong and figure out how to correct him without sounding like I was correcting him, all so I didn’t lose my job.
And find my panties.
“Fuck.”
“Everything okay in there, Iz?” Sketch called through the walls.
Damn it. “Just fine.” I didn’t sound convincing.
“Get your ass out here.”
That was Bear. A fitting name for a man who topped six feet, shaved the sides of his head but had the top knot braided messily like some sort of Viking cosplayer. He had more tattoos than Sketch. Which I honestly didn’t think was possible. At least Sketch stopped at his chin. Bear’s tattoos covered everything but his face, mostly. There were two that encroached on his forehead and the opposite eyebrow.
Sketch wasn’t skinny, but you could put two of him together and probably not make up one Bear. That scared the shit out of me. Humans weren’t supposed to be that big. I crept out of the bathroom, scanning the floor for signs of my panties.
“Looking for these?”
Bear dangled my cheeky black satin thong from his index finger.
Sketch snapped it away. “Those are mine.”
Time to set the record straight. I walked to Sketch and snatched my thong from his hand. “Mine. Excuse me.” I turned right back around and made quick work in the bathroom, slipping it on.
