Page 39 of The Plus Ones
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I don’t want to piss her off because I want to sleep in that bed. “Sure. I can do that.” I turn off Jay-Z and place my phone and the headphones on the floor.
“Fantastic. Thank you.”
“Sorry to disturb.”
She stomps back over to the bed, and I watch her get in and get settled. “Stop watching me.”
“Okay.”
I turn back to my laptop. I can work to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, no problem. I get back into my flow state again. I’m typing up notes and writing an email to my business manager when I hear Roxy say in a deep voice, “I can hear you typing.”
“I’ll try to type more quietly.”
“I’ll still be able to hear it.”
“I can assure you I’m very good at getting the job done with the gentle touch of my fingertips.”
“I can promise you it will still piss me off. I’m a light sleeper.”
“You’re not even asleep yet.”
“Exactly.”
I sigh and save my work, close the laptop. “Guess I’ll try to sleep too then. I hope the sound of me brushing my teeth doesn’t rattle you too much.”
“Just get it over with,” she grumbles.
“That’s what she said.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
When I take my pajamas and travel pouch into the bathroom, my first thought is that I should call the front desk to let them know we’ve been burglarized. There are towels on the floor and half of a Sephora store spread out haphazardly over the entire two-sink marble counter. I turn to look back at Roxy, who appears so innocent lying there, but she is clearly a madwoman, because who the fuck does this to a beautiful luxury bathroom and then doesn’t clean up after herself?
I guess she hears me moving a few of her beauty products, because she yells out, “Don’t touch my stuff!”
“I need to make room formystuff.”
“Well, don’t touch my stuff.”
“Would you like to come in here and move your stuff for me? Because I think that would be a great idea.”
The door is closed, but I swear I can hear her whispering “fuck you” and I’m sure she’s flipping me the double bird right now. But she doesn’t come to help me tidy up, so I guess I’ll be doing it for her. I line all of the bottles and containers and brushes and tubes up as neatly and quietly as possible, pick up the towels, because that’s driving me nuts, and finally get around to brushing my teeth.
“Oh my God! Of course you would have an electric toothbrush!”
I don’t respond, because that would just be more noise.
This is a delightful side of Roxy Carter and such a wonderful surprise.
I continue to brush through the four beeps and until my electric toothbrush automatically shuts off. I rinse my mouth with less vigor than I normally would and cleanse my face with as little splashing as possible. When I’m done with the face cloth, I fold and hang it back exactly the way I found it, and then I change into my pajamas. I fucking hate wearing pajamas, but I knew she wouldn’t want to share a bed with me if I’m just wearing boxers.
You’d think a woman who’s as comfortable as she clearly is with sex would be a lot more laid-back about being around a man in private. I take one last look at that shower. She is being exactly the opposite of Oiled-up Shower Roxy tonight. Which is probably a good thing. For now.
I am so fucking thoughtful, I even turn off the bathroom light before opening the door so she doesn’t complain about that too. The sky is so clear and the moonlight is so bright I can see perfectly. I fold up my clothes and place them over my suitcase and then climb into bed like a ninja. I don’t even disturb the flower petals that are still lying on top of the cover. She doesn’t say anything, so I’m staying.
She’s still lying on her back, but I lie on my side with my back to her, and I’m practically lined-up with the edge of the mattress. I can do this. I can sleep like this. She barely even smells like cocoa butter anymore. I’m barely even thinking about sixteen-year-old Roxy bending over an engine under the hood of a Corvette in a tiny T-shirt and cutoffs.
Just as the sweet mistress of sleep is about to embrace me to her bosom, I am startled by what is surely the sound of a wild boar that has snuck into our cottage. I slowly turn over and hike myself up onto my elbow to discover—to my horror and delight—that my bedmate is snoring.Roxy Carter snores.It’s not an adorable little rhythmic quiver like a purring cat. It’s like when a fighter jet flies right overhead and everything rattles, only this jet is filled with angry barnyard animals and a sloppy drumline.
