“No woman would have a mirror that small.” She gives me the eyebrow look again, and my skin tingles.
“I think you say things like that just to get a rise out of me,” Aerin says.
“Gets a rise out of me, too,” I mumble.
“What was that?” She looks up from her pack and narrows her eyes.
“Nothing.” I grin and nod over to the bed. “So, uh, what are the sleeping arrangements going to be?”
She eyes me for a full minute and a half—far longer than is comfortable—then shrugs.
“I guess it’s not going to be any closer than last night. I’d definitely prefer it if you showered before bed, but I get it first.”
“A shower?” All thoughts of curling up on the bed with her vanish from my head. “Are you saying there’s an actual shower here?”
“Sure is. Hot water, too.”
Thoughts of being in bed with her take a drastic turn to thoughts of warm, soapy water flowing over her body. I turn away from her and pretend to mess around with the dishes some more, worried she’ll see my face and know exactly what’s on my mind. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I should be imagining what my own shower will feel like, not thinking about how she might look with bubbles rolling over her back and shoulders.
“I won’t be long,” she says.
I’m getting long. And hard.
“Save me some hot water?” I manage to keep my voice steady and smile at her as she disappears into the bathroom. As soon as she’s gone, I drop back down on the chair and put my face in my hands.
I don’t know why I’m thinking this way. I feel like I did in the ninth grade when Ms. Shapiro taught my English class. I couldn’t watch her as she discussed Shakespeare—wearing her flowy dresses and tossing her long blonde hair around her shoulders—unless I had my bookbag on my lap.
Then, I could blame the adolescent hormones. I don’t know what to think of myself now. Sure, I’m a red-blooded, heterosexual guy and all, but my hand has always been enough for me.
Maybe that’s what I need…
I consider it, but the thought of her walking back into the room while I have my hand wrapped around my dick is horrifying. It might even be worse than the day I forgot to bring my bookbag to English class.
I hear Aerin start up the shower, and I grit my teeth as images of her naked and wet burst forth.
Maybe I can practice a little self-love in the shower.
In the meantime, I need a distraction. I head over to the bookshelf to check out the titles. I find an eclectic mix, including some classics alongside some popular fiction like Douglas Adams and Anne Rice. I notice two geology textbooks and another on organic chemistry. I wonder if Aerin has read all of these or if they’re left over from the prior resident.
I try to remember which books she had been checking out when I first saw her at the Thaves’ residence, but I hadn’t been paying close enough attention at the time. Now I wish I had. Now I wish I had time to run to Hilltop and ransack a house just to steal books for her.
For all I know, she hasn’t read any of these.
One of the books on the bottom has no title on the spine, and I remove it carefully. The cover is blue and is devoid of writing as well, so I open it up somewhere in the middle and take a peek.
Inside, I see a handwritten poem with credit given to someone named George Roemisch, and the words go on and on about forgiveness and violets. I turn the page to see another poem written in the same handwriting, this one by Robert Frost. The page after that starts with a date.
Tuesday, May 12, 2136
Tomorrow I leave the capital and head over the mountains. Mom is convinced I can do this, but I have my doubts. I don’t want to go. I’m not even sure what I’ll be able to accomplish, and I dread leaving Rick behind. He’s going to be so pissed that I left without saying goodbye, but it’s not like I can tell him…
I thumb through a few more pages, realizing this is someone’s journal and wondering how long ago the writer might have been here. The first entry I saw was only a year and a half ago, and I was under the impression this facility had been vacated long before that. I find the last page with an entry and look it over.
October, 2138
I’ve lost track of the actual day. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter, but it’s bugging me anyway. I had an interesting encounter this evening. I ran into a thief in one of the houses where I was gathering supplies. The bastard actually held a knife to my throat before I turned the tables on him. He ended up chasing me out of Hilltop, but he’s not going to forget that punch anytime soon…
I quickly close the book and shove it back into place on the shelf. I take a couple steps backward, putting some distance between me and what I now realize is not just a diary, but Aerin’s diary.