Page 113 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
I towel off and marvel that the last time I saw this bathroom it was a terrifying, dilapidated horror. Now it’s absolutely charming. The tile is a mix of blush and sandy pinks and feels delightfully vintage. It’s a fun contrast to the modern vanity and clean lines of the other fixtures. I’m impressed.
“Mike!” I yell after I wrap a towel around my torso. “Mike!”
“Yeah?” he yells from somewhere in the little house.
I open the door a crack. “I need pj’s.”
“What?” he says from outside the door.
“Clothes, Mike. Tell me you have some clean ones.”
He groans but promptly returns with a SDSU T-shirt and gym shorts.
“Do you have a spare pair of sweatpants?”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters before opening and slamming his bedroom door.
He returns and thrusts a pair of black sweats into the steaming bathroom. “Anything else?”
“I don’t suppose you have a pair of fuzzy socks.”
The door slowly creaks open. I don’t squeal. I don’t squirm. But I do clutch the fluffy white towel a little closer to my chest.
Mike flashes me a smile. “Of course. And would you like a face mask, maybe a foot massage? I think I have some cucumber water in the fridge.”
“This some kind of twisted fantasy of yours?”
He barks out a laugh and turns on his heel, leaving me dripping and sockless.
His clothes smell like him—thyme and eucalyptus. I have to roll the waistband of the sweats, and his shirt swallows me up, but I also know I look adorable. “I’m ready for my cucumber water. Mike?”
He’s in the living room on his hands and knees by the fireplace. “What are you doing?”
“I’m prepping baseboards. What does it look like I’m doing?” He looks up at me and does a double take.
“What?” I reach a hand up to my wet hair. “I couldn’t find your hair dryer.”
“I don’t own a hair dryer.”
I snort. “And you call yourself an actor.”
“Hilarious, Bea.” He spackles over a nail hole.
I admire his arms. He really does have nice arms.
“Can I borrow your phone?”
“What for?” More spackle.
“To call a locksmith.”
He pounds a nail in before adding more spackle.
“Do you have to do that now?”
“I’m almost done.” He crawls down the length of the board until he’s right below me. “Do you mind?”
I fold my arms across my chest but don’t move.
