Page 62 of The Heartbreak Hotel
Twenty-Five
“Fuck.”
Henry jerks upward, bleary-eyed and flushed. He blinks before stepping backward, my hands sliding out of his boxers.
“She’s early,” I say, scooting off the counter. When my feet hit the ground I’m immediately in Henry’s space, all but pressed against his bare chest. In the stark rush of my adrenaline I see him more clearly than I could before—there’s a pink scar running the length of his sternum. “Goldie.” I look up at Henry, and he swallows. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Henry drags a hand through his hair, finger-combing it back into some semblance of order. “Let me just—get dressed.”
I shuffle around him to find my underwear, yanking it on so quickly it gets completely twisted, and reach for my discarded jeans as the doorbell rings again. She’s going to wake Quinn. She’s going to make Nan and Shani come downstairs. I imagine all three of them seeing Henry and me emerge from the bathroom together and say, “Could you go out the back door?” before I’ve even thought it through.
Henry stills, hands on the button of his jeans. Then he looks away from me, finishes buttoning them, and says, “Sure.”
I know I’ve fucked up right away, but there just isn’t time. I’m feeling so many things at once—panic, shame, guilt, desire—that I’m nauseous. “It’s just, Goldie’s so nosy, and she’s going to lay into me, I just—” I pull the door open, casting one look back at him. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he says again, softly. I want to kiss him again. I want to take his clothes off, really—I want to put my palm against the heat of his flushed face and slide his pants back down and finish what we started. But the doorbell rings again, and I squeak out an unforgivably awkward, “Okay, bye,” and make for the hallway. Just before I open the front door, I hear the back one whine shut behind Henry.
My sister stands on the front porch in a blazer, black leather tote bag hiked over one shoulder.
“You didn’t have to ring three times,” I say. “Quinn’s asleep.”
Goldie narrows her eyes. “Why are you so red?”
I lift the back of one hand to my face, feel the heat of my skin. “I was, um. Cleaning.”
She studies me for another beat before saying, “Okay,” and stepping past me into the house.
“How was the conference?”
“Fine,” she says, dropping her bag to the floor. “How did Quinn do?”
“Perfect angel,” I say. “He tripped at the park and has a few little scrapes on his palms, but I’ve been disinfecting them and he doesn’t even—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I blink at her. My brain is still whirring at warp speed:Henry,Henry’s mouth, Henry in my hands. Goldie at the door. The doorbell.“Because he was fine? I didn’t want to worry you. I handled it.”
She lets out a short punch of an exhale. “I’d have liked a heads-up. He’s my kid.” She starts toward the kitchen. “Can I have some water?”
“Yes—” I follow her, catching up. “I know he’s your kid.”
“What’s all this?” she asks, pointing to the mess of tattoo supplies on the counter before reaching into the cabinet for a glass.
“Temporary tattoos,” I say, trying to think of Quinn’s rocket ship instead of the constellation on my stomach.
Goldie groans, leaning against the counter next to the fridge and taking a long sip of water. “How many did you give him?”
I press my lips together. “A handful.”
“Great,” she mutters. NoThank you for watching my son. NoHow was your weekend?I feel myself stiffen.
“When’s your flight?”
Goldie glances at her watch. “Four hours. So I should probably get him up and start heading to the airport.”
“Great.” I start gathering the tattoo supplies. I love my sister, but right now I just want her gone.
“We didn’t get to finish our conversation about the Comeback Inn.”
