Behind the Scenes(83)

“Where is Crystal?” I ask.

“She said something about a hike with someone named Sean.”

“Bean? Astin?”

“I’m sure it was one or the other.”

I smile at him, glad to have our old joking mood inserted into the conversation.

Someone knocks on the door, interrupting the moment.

“Ugh.” Eryk groans and lets his head flop back. “If it’s Dominica from down the hall again, I’m going to freak out.”

“Why?”

“She’s fund-raising for her school. I already gave her, like, twenty dollars, but she keeps coming back.”

“Tell her to get a job,” I giggle.

“Since when do you advocate child labor?”

I set my coffee down. “I’m kidding.”

“Can you make her go away?” he whines.

“I’ll give her the change from under the couch cushions.” I stand up, yanking my tank top down so ten-year-old Dominica doesn’t have to be exposed to a grown woman’s bare stomach so early in the morning.

Pushing my bangs out of my eyes, I open the door without looking through the peep hole. With it halfway open, I halt. All I can do is stare at the person standing in front of me.

“Is it her?” Eryk calls. “I’ll pay her a dollar to go down to the store and get us some skim milk.”

“I can get your milk,” Simon says. Surely it’s a joke, but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Uh,” I mutter, still staring at him. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and there’s stubble on his cheeks. His skin is slightly tanner too. Wherever his “business” trip was, it must have been in a place with beaches.

“That sounds like a man,” Eryk suspiciously calls.

I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “It-it is a man. It’s Mr… it’s Simon.”

The corner of Simon’s mouth perks up the slightest bit, and I’m tempted to lick the entire length of his lips… and then push him down the stairs.

“Invite him in!” Eryk calls.

I still can’t move.

Simon peeks over my shoulder. “Sounds like your roommate wants me to come in.”

I suck in a breath and step aside. “Okay. Why the hell not?”

He waits patiently in the hall while I close the door, then follows me to the living room. Eryk is sitting up straight, beaming at us. “Oh, hello,” he says like he’s a regular debutante. “So nice to see you again.”

“You too, Eryk.”

“Can we get you anything?” he asks, still using his phony I’m-The-Perfect-Host voice.

“No, thank you. I just came by to speak to Sydney.”

I grab my coffee mug from the table and because it’s cooled down, swig half of its contents. I look at Simon over the rim of the mug. He looks back at me, then glances at Eryk. Eryk looks at him and then stares at me. Simon looks back at me… and I stare at my coffee.

Simon speaks first. “Can we do it, um…”

“In private,” Eryk offers.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Sure. This way.” I turn my back to him and head for my room. Everything about the living room and hallway is different with Simon in them. I feel as if we’re swimming underwater.

God, why is he here?

As much as I want to kick him out and tell him to never return, I also want to beg him to stay. This is exactly the reason I needed to separate myself from him in the first place — to get a clear head about things.

And now he’s intruded in my apartment, and just like with work, taken away the sacredness from my own home.

I’m pretty angry by the time we get to my room. I’m also slightly embarrassed over the unmade bed and the clothes from yesterday laying on the floor. Nothing says I’m a kid and not as mature as you than a messy bedroom.

Walking across the floor, I quickly kick a pair of socks under the bed, hoping I’ve spared Simon’s eyes from at least one humiliating object. Or, rather, spared myself from the judgment stemming from him seeing my crap all over the place.

I sit down at the vanity with my arms crossed. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Only his eyes move, sweeping across the room and taking in my bed, my shelves of books and DVDs, and pictures of friends from high school and college.

“Speak,” I say, the word coming out a tad harsher than I meant it to.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Hello to you too.”

I angrily shake my head, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms. I have to keep my wrists locked in front of me, because if I don’t, I run the risk of reaching out and touching him. No matter how annoyed I am with him, he’s still just as attractive as he was the first day I saw him. Maybe even more so now that we’ve had sex.