Eden
Huh,I think.
Rhys’s eyes have just beenallover me. I’m still tingly from the experience.
Unless I imagined it? Maybe he was looking at me judgmentally, like,Put some clothes on, woman! No one wants to see that!
Regardless, I grab my dirty clothes from yesterday, and?—
Shit.
My thong is still hanging in the bathroom.
I knock on the door.
“What?” comes back a rough voice.
“My, um—” I roll my eyes at myself. He has a sister. It’s not like he’s never seen women’s underwear. “If you kind of ball up the towel that’s hanging there, my panties are, um, inside, and you can toss me the whole thing—”Without, you know,touchingthem.
Although I don’thatethe thought of him touching them.
I sort of like it…
Jilted!common sense reminds me.You’re supposed to be mourning Paul.
Paul who?my brain sends back.
A moment later the door opens and my thong flies at me. It’s air-dried nicely. Phew.
As I slip it on, I don’t let myself dwell on the fact that he did, indeed, touch it.
No more washing the undies in the sink and sleeping commando. It causesthoughts.Andfeelings.
First stop today—undie shopping.
Rhys emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed, hair rumpled but damp and semi-styled. He doesn’t meet my eyes. Which is fair. The thong thing was kind of awkward.
Or at least that’s one word for it.
I can feel the thong between my legs. It’s just sothongytoday. I don’t remember ever being as aware of it before.
I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too.
Oh, my God, Eden,stop!
In an effort to reset my horny monkey brain, I check my phone, which opens to Find My.
For a second, I’d almost forgotten about Paul. The quilts. The broken-down car. The fact that Rhys and I aren’t just two people having breakfast together on a slightly awkward, unintentional road trip.
“Oh, shit,” I say as I take in what I’m seeing.
“What?”
“Paul’s on the move again.”
“Where is he?”
“He just entered Montana on 90.”
