Page 36 of Not Another Yesterday
“The bathroom isn’tthatbad,” she says through a guffaw. “I’ve had much worse.”
I shake my head at her. “Sorry my dick’s not as thick-skinned as you. I have no doubt I’d catch an STD just standing in there,” I joke, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.
“You’re concerned for your cock Mister Slept-With-Over-Fifty-Chicks?”
I narrow my eyes and tilt my head at her. “Only ever with a condom, and I’m not about to put on a rubber to take a fucking shower.”
“You know, I did use the toilet in there and I’m perfectly fine,” she says, her blue eyes watery with laughter.
“Nah, you for sure contracted something. I’d recommend you find the nearest clinic when you get back to Montana. Get ready toruin your intestinal lining with some harsh antibiotics to kill whatever worked its way into your system while you peed.”
That results in a new wave of laughter. She composes herself, then smiles at me with a sanguine look. “I’ve missed you. Only you manage to make me laugh until I want to puke,” she says, then ties her red flannel around her waist. “Alright, let’s leave this beautiful five-star resort and get on the road.”
I pull on my jacket, grab my backpack, and follow Miranda out the door and to the small lobby to check out. We’re in my car and on the road just minutes later. Miranda immediately starts messing with the stereo, trying to find suitable music for our short road trip.
“So, when can I finally see a picture of your feline?” she asks with a grin after she settles on a bluegrass station of all things.
I smile, then quickly pull up a picture of Cat before handing my phone to Miranda.
“Holy shit, Rony. This is her?” Miranda’s eyes are huge as she looks at the photo I took of Cat at Murphy’s one evening. My smile widens. To say that I’m proud—and immeasurably undeserving—to have landed Cat would be the understatement of the fucking century.
“Yeah,” I say, my focus on the road.
“Good god, she’s”—Miranda searches for the right words—“fucking gorgeous. No wonder you go all goo-goo when you talk about her.”
Miranda begins swiping around on my phone, probably looking through more pictures. “You two are so cute together,” she says as she continues to scour my phone. “Oh, fuck, Rony. She’s got a perfect body, too. Nice, perky boobs.” Miranda grins and turns my phone for me to see a topless picture Cat sent to me when I was at work one night a couple of months ago.
“What the fuck, Randi,” I grunt and snatch my phone from her hand. That is definitely not something I’m willing to share. Not with Cat’s history. She only started to trust me with intimate pictures of her in September. It was a huge surprise to receive a text message with anextremely provocative and equally sexy picture of Cat. I called her the second I opened it—even though it was well past midnight—wanting to gauge her feelings about the step she had just taken. It was important to me that she knew I never expected her to send me nudes, that I’d never pressure her. It had to be her idea. I mean, was I going to complain? Fuck no, but I needed her to know that I only move at her pace, always.
Cat assured me that she had thought about it long and hard, and this was something she wanted in our relationship. She’s definitely gotten more comfortable, and I have a small, nicely curated collection of intimate pictures of Cat on my phone. I just didn’t expect Miranda to start looking for it.
“I know all about hidden albums, Rony.” She grins at me.
I frown. “You ever heard of privacy?” I lock my phone with the push of a button.
Miranda only laughs. “But seriously, she’s stunning. I love her eyes.”
My face softens. “Yeah, me too. There honestly isn’t any part of her that I don’t love,” I say, then sigh.
“Oh yeah, I bet you love every. Single. Part. Of her.” Miranda wiggles her eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “I mean… yeah.” I can’t help but smile. Cat seriously is the most beautiful, perfect girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. “She’s honestly way too good for me, Randi.”
“Why would you say that?” she asks, studying me.
“She always has been. I knew it right from the moment I met her, and I felt like such shit for dragging her into my bullshit. And even now…” I trail off, shaking my head.Okay, Ran, why the hell are you going down this path right now?
“But it’s over, Rony,” Miranda says. “Your mom’s not able to hurt you anymore.”
“Yeah.” I sigh.
I feel Miranda’s eyes boring their way into my head.
“You’re doing it again,” she says. “You’re bottling shit up. I told you to stop doing that. It’s not healthy, Ronan. Tell me what you’re thinking!”
There go my walls, up and up, brick by fucking brick. Except I was the one who cracked open the door. Why? Maybe because being silent is starting to feel worse than bleeding. “Last I checked, I drove thirteen hours to help you out. Not talk about my shit again.”
“It’s not just a one-way street, Rony. Talk!”
