Page 29 of Hello Darling
9
Stella
Imight have to stay in this bathroom forever. Or at least until my panties dry out. What the hell is happening? I pace around the tiny bathroom like a caged tiger, and then I start cleaning. The janitor cleaned overnight, of course, but he always misses a few spots, and it’s not like my brothers or dad will ever tend to this stuff.
Why is Evan Hunter toying with me?
Am I secretly dying to sail the seas? Um. No. Let’s not read too much into my sexy sailor costume.
Sail the seas.
Who does he think he is, and why is he bothering with me?
Sometimes a Halloween costume is just a Halloween costume.
Sometimes yoga instructors actually mean stiff muscles when they talk about being stiff.
Fucking actors and their love for subtext.
I want to run back out there, punch the air and yell out: “You don’t know me!”
I definitely don’t need him to know that I was up all night baking an obscene amount of goodies just to keep my hands off my own goodies and mind busy with measurements and temperatures and times, so I wouldn’t fondle myself while thinking of him. I just couldn’t get his voice out of my head. It’s like he’s cast some sort of Disney prince spell on me, the kind that never had any affect on me growing up (I used to tease my friends mercilessly for crushing on Prince Eric), and now Prince Phillip has waltzed right into my life, slayed the dragon that is my love for Jason Momoa-types, and is about to wake me from my slumber with a kiss.
I don’t think I’m ready to wake up yet.
I am definitely not about to kiss him at the gym.
Or maybe I’m imagining everything due to a total lack of sleep.
He sure doesn’t act like a brokenhearted guy who’s been dumped. Or maybe this is just him rebounding. Maybe he really is sad and he’s just been focusing his attention on me to get through this difficult period in his otherwise picture perfect life.
Or maybe I just need to get out of this building. Take an early lunch break as soon as my brother gets here. Put a few blocks of distance between me and that thin tank top that accentuates every damn muscle beneath it. Big guys are definitely still my thing, but there’s something very beautiful about the lines and smooth molded curves of his arms. Like a statue. Like a really friendly, charming, confusing statue with a fancy accent.
Now that I smell like Windex and flop sweat, I open the door and walk straight to the front desk without looking around for Evan. When I reach the desk, I realize the front door is unlocked and hear Billy’s voice. He’s talking it up with his buddy Evan over by the shoulder press machine. I need to get out of here before he starts his strength training because if I see him breathing out, veins in his neck bulging while his muscles flex, my brain might explode.
I leave a note for Billy at the desk telling him I’m running to the deli for breakfast, and literally run out the door.
The mouthwatering thoughts of an egg sandwich fill my head for thirty whole seconds before I overhear talk of Evan Hunter, as always. I swear, Mrs. Flauvich is obsessed. She’s been happily married for like forty years, but I haven’t seen her this excited about anything since her daughter’s wedding, and even then she was complaining about how the humidity made her daughter’s hair frizzy.
She’s at the register, talking to a woman that I recognize from the library, someone I’ve never actually spoken to, showing her something on her iPad.
“She’s pretty I guess,” says the library lady, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t recognize her. I just hope the movie people aren’t noisy or messy.” She nods at me as she leaves with her takeout bag.
“She’s on a TV show that Missy watches, and it says here she got rave reviews for an independent film that was at the Sundance Film Festival last year.”
I feel my stomach drop, and not in the good way. “Who’s that?” My voice sounds suitably half-interested, I think.
“They’ve cast the actress to play the love interest in the Evan Hunter movie. Surely they will have a love affair on the set,” she says.
“Can I get an egg sandwich,” I say, grabbing the iPad to inspect this “love interest.” Funny he never mentioned a love interest. Also typical. Also weird that it never occurred to me that there would be one. “What are you reading, Mrs. Flauvich?”
“Oh I don’t know, I just Google his name and see what comes up. A lot comes up. You’re here early.”
“Uh huh.”
She’s got raven-black hair and bright white teeth and big blue eyes that look shrewd and don’t match her broad smile. She is very pretty, but I might sort of hate her. She looks like a fakey-fake. She doesn’t look like anyone I’d want to get to know, and I can’t imagine she’d be capable of the same conversations with Evan as I’ve had—but if that’s what he’s into—good for him.
“Just the egg sandwich for you, dear?”
