Page 39 of Idle

Paige’s yelling at me that I was worse than her father has to be what kicked me down this memory lane. I wasn’t waiting up for them to get back. Well, maybe I was hoping they’d return while I was reviewing the notes.

Perhaps I harbored a bigger hope their date would’ve been a big fail.

But when they came in, all lovey-dovey, I couldn’t handle it. I should’ve taken Mary Ellen’s cue and gone to bed when she did. Instead, I allowed myself to get all riled up over the fact they’re now dating and threw the show notes at her.

It’s not like I want to date her anyway. She’s a free agent—allowed to go out with anyone she wants. But seeing her like that withhim, of all people, rubbed me the wrong way. So I acted like a sulky teen instead of a grown-ass adult.

Shit. She was right to call me out.

I better figure out a way to handle their relationship, even though the thought of them having one makes me want to hurt someone. Entering the gym, I take my frustrations out on the punching bag.

An hour or so later, I chug some water and toss a towel around my sweaty neck. This is what I needed to clear my head. Ready to tackle whatever the day holds, I saunter into the main space of the ViewPad. On my way across the room, I pass by the sofa and notice Paige sleeping underneath some papers. Shocked I didn’t notice her before, I approach and clear my throat. When she doesn’t move, I touch her shoulder.

Sleepy eyes meet mine. Lowering to one knee, I whisper, “Sleepyhead. What are you doing out here?”

She yawns. “Must’ve fallen asleep.”

She struggles to sitting. I want to assist her, but don’t trust myself not to do something foolish like pull her into my body, so I allow her to get her bearings. When she’s upright, I sit on the sofa and help gather her notes.

I whisper, “Why don’t you try to get some real shut-eye? It’s still early.”

“I think I will.” She hands me her notes. “Please take a look at what I was drawing. We can discuss them once I’m awake.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stands and I try not to notice her long, bare legs. Or how she’s not wearing a bra underneath her sleepshirt.

After she leaves the room, Mary Ellen strides into the kitchen. “Paige fell asleep working out here.”Why did I feel the need to explain?I pull out a mug and pour some coffee into it. “How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m alright. Talked with Paige last night, which helped and didn’t.”

Not going there. “Try to lean on the helping part.” Wanting to change the subject, I ask, “Have you reviewed the notes for the primary suite yet?”

She points to the documentation strewn at one end of the island. “I’m going over it now. It’ll be hard to be creative in such a defined space.”

I didn’t consider it like that. I’m itching to look at what Paige handed me but focus on the woman in front of me instead. “Well, many different options are available. Paint or wallpaper. The type of bed. Other furniture. Plus, the bathroom is a wide-open canvas.”

“That’s a good way to look at it. Thanks.” She raises her coffee mug.

Lifting my arm, I reply, “Don’t mention it.” I catch my smell. “I better go take a shower before I stink up the whole place.” I cringe at her horsey laugh but cover it up with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

I drain my mug and return to the bedroom, where my roommate continues to snore from his top bunk. Choosing a comfortable outfit of sweats and a bank T-shirt, I take a shower. I can’t get this one question out of my mind: What does it mean that Paige was up in the middle of the night working on the design for our next rooms?

Still unable to answer the question, I stroll into the bedroom. My roommate raises to his forearm. “Clear?”

“All yours.”

The bunk creaks under his weight as he throws his legs over the side and hops to the floor. Above his boxers, he scratches his stomach. “Some partner you’ve got there—a real spitfire. She’s got gumption.” He elbows me in the stomach as he passes.

I don’t want to talk about Paige, especially not with him. “Like you and Mary Ellen, we’re not a couple.”

“Ah. But we used to be.”

I don’t want to talk with Bo, but I’d rather discuss his failed relationship than delve into his new one. “What went wrong with Mary Ellen, anyway?”

He opens the dresser drawer. “Seemed like the right choice at the time to get married. It wasn’t.” He shrugs. “Not much more to it.”

Yeah, right. I’m not a gossip, and this is none of my business, so I refrain from asking the myriad of follow-up questions begging to come out. Bending down, I pick up my casual sneakers and a pair of socks and walk toward the door. Raising one of my shoes, I say, “Well, I’ll let you get ready in peace.” Turning, I open the door and return to the living area.

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