“Even before I knew it was you, I’m pretty sure I said what happened after breakfast was your call.” I have no idea why I’m so annoyed right now, but I am. She’s acting like I’m some dick who doesn’t understand the word no. “Just want to clean up, and then I’ll be out of your hair, Kendall.”
When the elevator stops and the doors open to the third floor, I step out and to the side so that she can pass me.
Inside her room, I pull my drenched shirt over my head as I walk over and hang it over the heating vent.
“Might want to rinse it first.”
“Wouldn’t want to put you out any more than I already am.”
“Ben, it’s already soaked.”
“It’s fine.”
I walk into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, drop my jeans, and then look in the mirror. “Jesus, what a mess.”
My hair isn’t just soaked; there are clumps of mud in it.
I open the door and peek my head out, seeing her back is to me. “You mind if I wash off?”
“Of course not.”
Apparently, I take too long in the shower because, when I come out, she’s asleep in a ball on top of the bed, shivering as she hugs a pillow.
After covering her up and pushing the golden waves away from her face, I realized her hair is wet, too.
I pull her little shoes and soaked socks off before lifting a part of the cover to fold over her. She moves ever so slightly, revealing a wet spot on the pillow.
“Little Ross, you need to wake up and get changed, or you’ll catch a cold.”
She doesn’t move.
I turn around, walk to the dresser, and pull open a drawer. Nothing.
I walk to her closet and, again, nothing.
On the opposite side of the bed is a medium-sized suitcase. Surely that can’t be all she brought.
I pick it up, set it on the bed, and unzip it. The damn thing nearly explodes with clear zipper bags.
“Well, fuck.” I laugh as I pick one up.
In black marker, it’s clearly labeled “panties.”
As tempting as it is to unzip the baggy and check out what covers what I am now vividly imagining her soft pale skin looks like underneath the ones she has on right now, I don’t. Instead, I set it down and rummage through the suitcase.
Pulling out a navy-blue sweatshirt, I shake it out and read, Blue Valley Saints, and see the crossed field hockey sticks in a circle beneath it.
I set it down then sit behind her. “Okay, I’d really like you to wake up and do this yourself.”
“Tired,” she mumbles as she shivers and leans back against me.
“Kendall, sweets, it’s Ben, and you are gonna wake up and think I’m a dick, but—”
“Sorry, Ben,” she says, teeth chattering.
“You’re soaked, and we need to get you out of this.” I pull her jacket slowly down her back.
“N-n-n-n-o.” Her teeth chatter. “S-s-s-so cold.”