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“Thank you. For everything,” she said as we walked down the hall. “You’ve been amazing, and I’m glad I came back here with you.”
“Okay, right here.” I motioned with my arm to the open bathroom door. I quickly reached in and flipped on the light for her and stood back.
While she used the bathroom, I scurried back to the bedroom and pulled down the bedspread and sheet. She could slip right in when she came back, and I planned on tucking her in and heeding her wise advice. As difficult as it would be, we both needed sleep.
The next morning, Maye was up before me. I fell asleep on top of the covers alongside her in the guest room. I watched her sleep for most of the night, so I felt like a zombie when I heard her moving around the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked sleepily. Keeping my eyes open long enough to track her activity was more than I could accomplish. “How’s the arm?” I asked the second I was awake enough to gather my thoughts.
“It’s okay. Not as bad as last night, thankfully,” she said through that perfected, albeit manufactured, smile. “Whatever you gave me was good stuff, though. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of it. But the minute I was horizontal, I was out cold. I don’t think I moved all night.”
I wanted to say, You didn’t, trust me, but thought better about it, realizing how creepy that would appear. So instead, I matched her forced smile with one of my own.
“I’m so glad. Are you going to have it looked at today? I’d understand completely if you can’t come in first thing.”
“I thought I’d play it by ear. I need to get home and shower and regroup a little. I’ll be able to assess how swollen it is and what kind of range I have after that. At least that’s the game plan I’ve come up with.”
“How long have you been up?” I asked. She was very chipper already for a woman with only a handful of hours of sleep. Mentally, I kicked myself. She was young. Young people were so much more resilient on a reduced sleep schedule.
“Not long at all. Less than an hour. I’ve called for a ride. I saw your address on some mail on the kitchen island. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course,” I said, finally sitting up. She was definitely in a hurry to leave, and I debated calling her on it or just letting her go. “Have you had coffee? I can make some,” I offered while standing and straightening the bedding.
I was so used to being alone, I didn’t think twice about the morning erection Maye couldn’t take her curious blue eyes from.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, trying to rearrange things in my sleep pants. It was no use. There’d be no hiding it until it calmed itself down.
Her gaze darted from my crotch to my face and back again. Finally, in a voice so husky it nearly broke me, she said, “All good. Biology is biology, right?”
“Right,” I mumbled as we walked down the hall toward the front door.
She was studying her phone screen like most girls her age did, and it was unusual. I rarely saw the woman use her phone, which was so refreshing. When she announced, “Oh! Looks like my ride is here,” and looked up, it was to find me staring at her.
“Thank you for everything, Andrew. I guess I’ll see you today sometime?” she said as I disarmed my security system and opened the door for her.
“Yes. If you decide to have it looked at by a doctor, please just let me know so I don’t think you’re lying in a ditch somewhere.”
“Of course! Ummm, okay.” She stalled on the front step, looking more awkward than I’d seen a woman the morning after.
I leaned closer and pecked her cheek. Since she was rushing off, I didn’t have time to brush yet. No way would I kiss her the way I wanted to.
But the chaste farewell seemed to make her uneasiness worse. She hurried off down the walk to the waiting vehicle so haphazardly, I thought she’d take another spill. I stood there watching the little hybrid vehicle until it disappeared around the first bend.
My gut was in knots. I would’ve bet money that was the first and last time I’d see her leave my house.
CHAPTER TEN
MAYE
I should’ve expected the traffic mess I sat in when leaving Andrew’s house. It took three times longer than it should’ve to get home to Brentwood. By the time I opened the front door, my dad was already gone for the day, and my mom was busy cleaning up the kitchen from his breakfast.
“Maye? Is that you?” she called over her shoulder while elbow deep in the dishwater’s suds.
“Hey, Mom. Yeah, it’s me.”
“You’ve been out and about early this morning,” she said, and there was no way I’d be able to escape to my room.
Did I admit I was just getting home, or play along with her version of my morning’s activities?
