Page 53 of Plays Well With Others

She cringes as she sets a new timer. “Yes?”

“And you told me you were taking me to a rock-climbing gym for my birthday? You sent me a whole list of things I needed to bring. You said you even checked with the NFL and that rock-climbing gyms were allowed in player contracts?”

She covers her face with the oven mitt. “Don’t remind me.”

I step closer and tug on the cloth, so she’s looking at me. “What’s really going on? I thought we were going to talk about this whole girlfriend lessons thing and dates, and you’ve been going on about Hazel’s whiteboard. Maybe you changed your mind. Maybe you didn’t. But something’s amiss, and if you want to know how a man who cares would handle that in his woman, here’s how I would.” I make sure she’s meeting my gaze, then I add, gently but firmly, “Talk to me.”

She gulps. Meets my gaze. Her lower lip wobbles as she puts the mitt on the counter.

Holy shit. Something is really wrong. I should have been more sensitive. “What is it?” I ask, a little alarmed.

She jerks her face away, toward the window in the living room.

“What happened? Did some fuckface leave another shitty review?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Then what is it? You’re freaking me out.”

She lifts her face and draws a breath. “You’re going to hate me. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did this. I’m the worst friend ever,” she says, her voice wobbly and worried.

And it’s totally wrecking me. Sheisbacking out of our four dates. This bothers me so much more than it should. “What happened? Just say it,” I say, trying to be cool though I’m not.

I’m fucking annoyed.

“I watched you last night,” she mutters, barely audible.

And I’m still clueless. “Watched me?”

“I woke up on your couch last night, and I walked into your bedroom. I thought I was at my home. I didn’t realize I was there. It took me a minute to register that I’d fallen asleep at your place,” she says, the words pouring forth like they’re spewing from a geyser. “And I was taking off my clothes to get into bed, and it wasn’t till I was in next to nothing and a few feet from your bathroom door that I realized where I was, and I saw…”

She stops. But I can connect the dots. Oh hell, can I connect them.

Maybe I should be embarrassed.

But I’m not.

I’m just not. Not about my body, my sex drive, my solo flights. Did I want her to find me in the shower? Now that I think about it, maybe some subconscious part of me did.

Maybe I’ve been wanting an opening with Rachel for longer than I’ve realized. Maybe this is it.

But I need her to be very clear about what happened last night. “What did you see, Rachel?”

Translation: how much did you see?

“Enough to do my own dick review.”

Whoa. I thought she was going to say she walked away. But this? This is better. I’m a little hot under the collar as she powers on, adding, “I’m sorry. I had stripped down to my undies in your bedroom and was about to get in your bed, but when I realized where I was, I freaked out that you’d hear me, and get out of the shower, and then it would be the forget-my-boobs all over again,” she says, and my brain is popping with delicious images—her in my bed, her in her lingerie, her, mere feet from me last night. “So I got dressed as quickly and quietly as I could, but I could see you in the mirror, and I should have just run off with my clothes. But I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen, and I hope you’ll forgive me, and I wasn’t going to say a word, but I didn’t know how to act tonight. I haven’t known how to act all day.”

I take a tentative step closer, wanting to set my hands on her shoulders but unsure if now’s the moment. Instead, I say, “Breathe.”

She takes one deep breath. Then another. “I’m so sorry,” she adds.

But I’m not. I love a good mystery, and my mind will not let me do anything else till I assemble every single clue. “So you watched me the whole time?” I ask, my voice low and maybe a little dirty.

“Yes, but it was only for a minute. I’m sorry,” she says again.

Fuck apologies. I want confirmation.

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