Page 55 of My Cosplay Escape
I squeeze my aching forehead. This is a bad idea, but when has that stopped me? “My mom is out tonight at dinner, and then she has book club. I need you to go over there, grab my other catsuit, and cover my shift for me. Please, Gwen! I’ve already told Adam the most pathetic aspect of my life today. I really don’t want to hash out the runner-up territory. Please, I’m begging you.”
I hear Gwen take a deep breath. “This is a bad idea.”
“I know.”
“I’m only doing this once.”
“I know.”
“What time do I need to be there?”
“Quarter to seven. The costume is in the suitcase under my bed. The spare key is under the red flowerpot.” I finger the fringe of one of the couch pillows.
Gwen groans. “You’re going to owe me your life for this one.”
“I know.”
“Breakfast at the very least.”
“We’ll meet up for omelets, and I’ll debrief you just as soon as this is all over.” Although, by the way my heart is racing, it’s hard to believe thatthiswill ever be over.
“Okay,” she says. “How’s the other part? You doing okay?”
“No.”
“Take a shower. Trust me. It’ll help.”
“Thank you, Gwen.”
“Thank me later. I’ve got a catsuit to liberate.”
I do what Gwen says. I take a shower. Only after, in Adam’s towel, do I discover my wardrobe issue. I don’t have a change of clothes in my gym bag other than my catsuit and spandex running gear. I’d die before putting either on. I mean, the spandex would have been okay if my hoodie were an option, but that is at least one wash-and-rinse cycle from being wearable.
I hear a car pull into the complex. Shirley Temples, it’s Adam. I slip on the black leggings and rummage through Adam’s dresser until I find—what else?—a hoodie. I pull it on over my sports bra and return to the couch, but not before I stuff my vixen boots down deep under the snotty hoodie and zip everything closed.
“Hey,” Adam says, setting his keys on the kitchen counter along with two bags of takeaway boxes. “You’re still here.”
“I took a shower. I hope that’s okay.”
“And you helped yourself to a hoodie.”
“I did.”
A smirk flickers on his face—a nice smirk, not a douchebag smirk. Do guys like to see women in their clothes as much as we like to wear their clothes? I swear the patriarchy extends to thread counts and fibers. “I didn’t know what you wanted, apart from the Life Savers.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses me the green tube. “So you can choose. Thai, sushi, or street tacos.”
“Yes,” I say, rising. “To all.”
“Good girl.” Adam brings down a couple of plates from the cupboard. “I know I said you didn’t have to talk, but we need to talk. Who’s Daniel, and who’s Brent?”
“Brent’s my brother. Daniel’s my ex.”
“Does your ex-boyfriend live around here? Because if he does, I personally would like to tell him—”
“Ex-husband. And no. He lives in China now.”
He sets down a couple of glasses heavily. His brow furrows, and for a moment, I think he’s scrambling for a way to change the subject. His eyes find my own, and I wonder if it’s my own pain or something entirely his own reflecting in them. “That’s really rough, Sarah.”
The words come easily, especially after a few bites of Thai food. “We hooked up at a party, and while lots of people have one-night stands and nothing happens, I got pregnant. He panicked and told his daddy, who is Michigan’s most conservative lawyer. Daddy Ray told Daniel to do the right thing, and before the semester ended, we were married. Both of us were miserable. And the baby was coming… until she wasn’t.”
