Page 38 of The Plus Ones
“Was she hot? The professor?”
“Yes. I’m a simple man.”
She cocks her head to one side and studies my face. “Are you, though?”
“No, I’m not.”
She blinks and shakes her head and then hops down off the bar stool, and I just happen to notice and praise the Lord that it makes her tits bounce a little. Roxy does not want to stay at the bar to have another drink with me while discussing whether or not I am a simple man, and she definitely doesn’t want to provide me with any more opportunities to see her glorious tits jiggle in that fantastic dress. She declines my invitation to go for a walk on the beach or anywhere else on the property, she most certainly does not want to check out the live music and dancing, and she also does not want to join the other guests in the lobby for Game Night. It’s like as soon as I made the comment aboutsamar, she decided she just wanted the night to be over so she can start the day tomorrow with Aim and Bernie. I get it. It’s fine. She doesn’t want to fall madly in love with me, and she’s clearly in danger of doing just that.
So here we are, back in the Hibiscus Cottage. She doesn’t want to take a dip in the plunge pool, she doesn’t want either one of us taking a candlelit bath, and there’s no TV in the room, so I’m on the veranda trying to FaceTime with my dog. And she’s wearing an oversize T-shirt and pajama pants while reading in bed.
“Is the volume turned up on your iPad?” I ask the caretaker at the dog hotel.
“It’s up all the way,” she assures me. “He can definitely hear you.”
That would explain why he’s just lying there in his bed, staring at the wall.
“Hey, buddy. You miss me? You having fun? Jackpot. Jackpot. Jackpot…Okay, he seems tired. Or is he depressed?”
“No, he’s been in really good spirits all day. I think maybe he’s worn out from playing so much.” She’s not a very good liar, but I do appreciate the effort.
“Sure. Okay, then. Thank you. I’ll check in tomorrow. Good night. Good night, Jackpot.” I end the video call.Asshole.I step back inside the room. “You want me to leave the doors open for a while?”
“No, you can close them. I’m actually kind of tired,” Roxy says, yawning, closing her book, and placing it on the bedside table. “I’m gonna try to sleep.”
It’s nine forty-five.
It’s interesting to me that she’s on the left side of the bed, since I prefer the right.
“Sure. Would you mind if I listen to music with my headphones while I do a little work on my laptop? I can go back outside for a bit.”
“Go right ahead,” she says, fluffing up her pillow. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
We haven’t revisited the topic of discussion from earlier, so I’d like to think that since she hasn’t told me to stay outside all night, I will assume that she has realized it will be no big deal for me to sleep in the same bed as her. She turns off the bedside lamp, lays her head back against the downy pillow, and crosses her arms over her chest, closing her eyes.
She looks so pretty with no makeup and no tension in her face.
“Stop looking at me,” she says, her eyes still closed.
“I’m looking for my headphones,” I say. They’re right there with my laptop, of course. I pick them up and go back out onto the veranda, get comfortable in one of the Adirondack chairs, and fire up my Jay-Z playlist. It’s what I listen to when I’m analyzing financial data. It works for me. It’s how I get into my flow state.
Two minutes into “99 Problems,” and I think I scream loud enough to wake people up in Florida when a hand slaps the back of my head. I nearly sprain my neck turning back to see Roxy standing behind me with her fists on her hips. I pull my headphones off. “What?”
“I can hear your music.”
“Why didn’t you close the doors?”
“I did. I could still hear it. I have very good ears.”
“I’ll turn it down.”
“Can you listen to something with a little less bass?”
“No.”
“Can you work on your laptop without listening to music?”
