Page 16 of Under My Skin
My clothes lay neatly folded on the bathroom counter, and I thumb through the small stack for my underwear.
Not there.
IknowI grabbed all my clothes. Lifting the corner of each folded clothing item again, I double check.
Still not there.
“Damn it,” I mutter before picking up each item and shaking it out in case I’ve somehow missed them again.
Nothing.
“Shit.” I wrap my towel around myself tighter and head out into the quiet living room. Hopefully Simon’s in his bedroom, and I can run out, grab what I need, and then run back in like nothing happened.
Darting into the living room, I yelp at the sight of someone staring back at me from the kitchen on the other end.
Everett has his elbows on the counter with his phone in hishands like he had just been texting someone, but now his hands are still, and I’m lucky enough to have his full attention. He’s wearing the same thing he was earlier, and there’s a helmet on the counter next to him like he just got home.
“I thought you were Simon,” I blurt.
He blinks and clears his throat. “Um, no.” He shakes his head. “Not Simon.”
Shifting my weight, I wrap the towel tighter around myself, and Everett’s eyes jump to follow my hands for a fraction of a second before meeting my stare again. “To be fair, I thought you were Simon,” he offers.
I guess that would explain the impatient pounding on the door. Appraising him slightly, I say, “Do you live here or something?”
“Or something.”
My eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you say anything when I saw you earlier?”
He casually lifts his shoulder. “I figured you’d go to your parents’ place.”
The mention of my parents brings a familiar ache with it, but I don’t say anything back to that. Instead, I scan the room for what I’m looking for.
Everett fills the silence when I don’t. “I’m sort of staying here for a while. Hopefully not too much longer.”
Another minor detail my brother forgot to mention, I guess. Looking around the room in hopes of finding my lost underwear, I mutter, “I don’t blame you. Living with Simon?” I shiver at the thought. “Yikes.”
A soft chuckle is his only response, but I feel his eyes on me. When I dare to meet his stare again, he’s standing up straight and eyeing me with subtle amusement. “Looking for something?”
“Maybe,” I answer reluctantly as I get back to my search. The last thing I need is for Everett Meyers to know I can’t find my panties.
“Does whatever you’re looking for happen to have . . . pineapples?”
My head whips in his direction to find him peering over the kitchen counter to stare at something on the floor on the other side. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Maybe?” I say again, the heat rising in my cheeks.
He walks around the kitchen counter. “Here, let me get it for?—”
“No!” I scurry around the couch. They must have slipped onto the floor while I was getting my stuff together.
He freezes. “I just figured since you’re . . .” His words trail, but he nods toward me, and my hand clenches around the towel tighter. He’s right. If I bend over, this towel is short enough to give him a show he never asked to see.
I stare down at my white underwear covered in tiny pineapples and let out a sigh of defeat. “Everett, can you please hand me my underwear?”
His lips lift at my obvious discomfort, and I’m glad at least one of us is having a good time.Iwould very much like to crawl into a hole and die in this moment, but it’s good to see he’s enjoying himself.
He bends down at my feet and grabs the delicate fabric, but he doesn’t stand up right away. Instead, he points at my ankle. “You didn’t scrub it off,” he says as he gets to his feet.
It’s not really a question. It’s more of an observation, but when he looks at me expectantly, I do my best to cross my arms while keeping myself covered. “Why would I wash it off? It’s supposed to be there for the rest of my life.”
