Chapter Eight
Emily
While Killian was availing himself of my shower, I quickly texted my friends again.
–Me: Don’t need to check into a hotel. The noise polluter caved.
–Skye: Really? I thought he was uncooperative.
–Me: He was, but karma is on my side.
–Lucy: What happened?
I summarized Killian and my bargain.
–Lucy: Oooh. Is he hot?
–Me: Is that what you got out of the story?
–Lucy: Yes because you’re lending him your shower. You wouldn’t have done that if he was some gross old orangutan-looking guy.
Ew.
–Skye: Cosigned.
–Me: You’re both being ridiculous.
–Skye: She didn’t deny the hotness.
–Lucy: Nope.
I rolled my eyes. They knew me too well.
–Me: Okay, he isn’t too bad. Didn’t max out the orangutan meter.
And my text just became the most flagrant understatement of the year. But it wasn’t like Lucy and Skye were going to meet Killian.
–Lucy: I want pictures.
Oh come on!
–Skye: Yep. Photographic evidence, please.
–Me: Take my word for it, ladies. He’s not worth the data.
–Skye: I’m on wifi.
–Lucy: Me too.
–Me: I’m not taking a picture of him in the shower!
–Skye: Of course not.
–Lucy: That would be porn.
–Skye: Do it after he’s out.
I gave up. My friends were acting like pigs, but I grudgingly admitted they were right to be skeptical. I was known to disparage good-looking men. It wasn’t because I had anything against attractiveness. It was just that… Men who were too hot for their own good reminded me of my dad. And I wasn’t too crazy about how I looked, either, because I’d taken after him in every way except for my hair, which was blond like my mother’s.