Page 73 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“Tea?” I squeak. I want the tea, but what I really need right now is not to have to explain myself.

“OK. Just sit here and calm down. I’ll be right back.”

We live in a townhouse, so the kitchen is on the second floor and the bedrooms are on floors one and three. I have the bottom, since this is technically Nora’s place and I only pay rent. She has the master bedroom with the rooftop terrace.

Nora runs up the stairs to the kitchen to get my tea started and I sit on my bed, still wearing Nolan Delaney’s clothes, and… and… I can’t even say it…

But I can smell him. His manly scent is all over these clothes. All over my body. And I know that makes me a freak, but I can smell him and it just makes me want to cry harder.

Calm down, calm down. Nora is going to come downstairs with my tea and start demanding details. And I’m not telling her anything. No one will ever know about this weekend and horrible….

I stop crying.

I take deep breaths and try to think of something else.

Like that stupid Mr. Corporate. Nolan followed me out of the house, saying, “We’ll figure it out,” and, “I don’t think you did anything wrong.” But then stupid Claudette came back and called me a lying whore from the comfort of her ugly Mercedes. And that I was only after Nolan’s money. And that I probably wasn’t on birth control.

I’ll probably get pregnant from the one time he came inside me and then she will be proven right!

I want to die.

And then Nolan said, “Shut up, Claudette! Go home!”

But she said, “No. I’m not letting you make more embarrassing mistakes and this tramp is…” Well, I don’t remember. By that time, I was walking down the hill, in what I thought was the direction of the main road. But it wasn’t and then the Uber driver charged me extra because I wasn’t at the right address.

And Nolan and I had a big fight in the middle of the street and people turned on their lights and the cops came!

I can’t believe this.

So I just got in the Uber car and said, “Drive!” And he said, “Where, lady?” And then I had to calm down and be all rational and explain. “The airport,” and, “Could you please hurry?”

It was all very dramatic.

I sigh, feeling a little better now that I ran it all through my head. I’m still not telling Nora. I can’t tell her what happened this weekend. She will want all the details about losing my virginity and what he did, and what I did, and how it was. And that will lead to the next day and the posing nude for him, and his offer.

That fucking offer.

And the worst part is… I can totally picture that yellow dress in my head.

“I’m sick.”

“Oh, honey,” Nora says from my bedroom door, my tea in hand. “I’m sorry. Is that why you’re crying? Did you get the shits while you were there? Did you drink that water they have? It does that sometimes.”

“I think that happens in Mexico,” I whine. “But yes,” I have to say something to account for how upset I am. “Yes, I totally got the shits and I had to borrow these clothes!”

I cry again. Wail into my pillow. Because I’d rather pretend I shit my pants in front of a hot guy instead of what really happened.

“I need to go home and see my parents,” I say. “I need to decompress.”

“Decompress from what?” Nora asks.

And I really do need to tell her something. So I opt for half the truth. “I didn’t get the job.”

“Oh, Ivy,” she says “I’m sorry, honey. But you knew that, right? You knew you weren’t going to get the job.”

“I know, but it’s worse. They said they never asked me to come. And they had a copy of my résumé that wasn’t mine. That’s why I got invited in the first place. It was just some big old mistake!”

“Well, that’s weird. How do they explain that?”