Page 26 of The One Bed Rule
Before we get too far into the movie, I pull out my phone, checking the weather for tomorrow. I hold the screen in a way that both of us can see it as I click the radar and forecast.
“Maybe it will finally stop snowing tomorrow?” Claire says wistfully, as the massive blue blob of winter seems to shrink and disappear while we watch the twenty-four hour radar loop.
“Maybe? I am looking forward to wearing appropriate clothing, not things from my Florida suit case.”
She turns, looking up at me, eyes wide and gushes, “Same.” She laughs considering she’s wearing a T-shirt of hers over the lacy lingerie from last night.
Next, we check the temperature forecast, which shows a significant warm up over the next few days. Like, it’s supposed to be 65 in six days. Talk about a swing.
“No icy roads this time next week,” she says. “That doesn’t compute in my brain. Stuck in a blizzard but back to the pumpkin patches and no winter coats in a week.”
“Definitely something I didn’t see coming. But, hey, we wouldn’t be in a bed with hot water bottles, watching the masterpiece that is Scream 2, if the weather behaved? Right?” I joke and shrug my shoulders, feeling her laugh into me.
Picking her head up, she wags a finger at me. “Don’t talk that way about my favorite movie franchise.”
“I would never,” I tease her, rolling my eyes, and then looking at the laptop screen.
We watch all of the movie, some of the jump-scares getting me, and Claire letting out a laugh I’d pay to listen to when my depression is pulling at me. An honest belly laugh from someone who people legit won’t sit next to in meetings because they’re scared of her. I love the contrast.
When the movie ends, I hurry out of bed, closing it and putting it on the small table in our room. Climbing back into bed, Claire is waiting for me to get comfortable.
Last night, I couldn’t help but think of touching her. Tasting her. Making her moan. But tonight? The thought of us just being here with each other is enough.
Twenty-Three
Claire
Thedooropensandit wakes me up. My eyes catch Seth walking in, holding something. I reach my arms and stretch my muscles, the room much warmer than last night. Plus, the personal heater known as Seth definitely made me more comfortable.
“Morning. I know you’re looking for caffeine, but I knew there were fresh oranges. So, how about mimosas?” He asks while holding the wine from the chiller—almost a full bottle from dinner.
A cappuccino may be my drink of choice, but a mimosa is a close second. “I’ll allow it,” I say, getting out of bed and taking care of myself in the bathroom.
I’m washing my hands after brushing my teeth, and I pause when I see my reflection. My skin looks like it’s glowing, the break from wearing makeup has been kind of nice. I’m the kind of person who wears makeup because I love doing it, but it’s not something I’ve missed the last few days. Also, the way Sethlooked at me? Made me feel better than any night I’d been out with a full face of makeup on.
I use my travel size bottle of moisturizer, following one of the morning routines I’m thankful I’ve been able to keep on this weird trip. Opening the container that holds my pills when I travel, I take my last Prozac and a little jolt of worry hits me. I always bring a few extra, but after this, maybe I start carrying a full week’s worth.
Walking out, I hold the teal and blue capsule, looking for my water bottle. Now, I’d be lying if I said I’d never taken my med with a mimosa but having a swig of water feels like a better start. It’s about balance—one of the best things a therapist has ever told me.
“I’d like to try and get home because this is my last one,” I say, tossing it in my mouth, and chasing it with some water.
“What is it?” Seth asks, pouring fresh orange juice in the flutes.
“I’m a member of the Prozac club.” I put my hand up, trying to show him that it doesn’t bother me to talk about.
“You should be okay if you miss one. Or if it’s late. It’s a delayed release.” He pours the bubbly into the glass and again, he surprises me. When I don’t say anything, but my eyebrows push into my forehead, he continues. “I was part of the same club for a few years.” He offers me a flute, smiling.
“I swear, you’re unlike any man I’ve ever met.” I lift my drink and he clinks his glass to mine.
Therapy. Meds. Coping mechanisms. Seth seems to be a walking green flag—and it’s greener because he put the work in.
“I did plug in your laptop and your charging bank while we have power. Chatted with Jess this morning and she says the generators are off and the power’s on for now.”
I take a drink, the mimosa a perfect blend of the sweet, fresh citrus and the sharp bubbles. I’m afraid I’m going to give this man a complex with too many compliments.
“And we can do some laundry. I figure we could at least wash the crew necks we lived in yesterday, with anything else that could be washed together.” He suggests something so simple, yet why is it that I’m turned on as this man talks about laundry?
Seth zips open his suitcase and starts pulling out the things he’d like to wash. When he pulls out a tie, he hangs it on the back of a chair. I’m painfully aware that I’m still wearing my lingerie, a black shirt over it, but my nipples tingle like they’re itching to be touched.
