The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,43

towel from the linen closet, but besides the itty-bitty bikini, I didn’t actually have clothes to change into. The outfit I’d so painstakingly picked out to wear that day was still in Anissa’s bedroom. I didn’t really relish the thought of putting the damp two-piece back on, but the alternative was wandering around in only a bath towel or hiding out until Anissa came looking for me.

I turned off the water and pulled back the curtain. My shower had been hot and the mirror over the vanity was steamed over. A t-shirt and sleep shorts were waiting for me on top of the pedestal sink. Anissa had brought me pajamas. I breathed a sigh of relief at the normalcy of the outfit. She could have set anything out for me—a silk teddy; a giant nightgown. Maybe the bikini had been punishment for rejecting her in Philadelphia and all was forgiven now.

I toweled myself off and pulled on the clothes Anissa had laid out for me. Not having a hairbrush, I ran my fingers through my damp hair. I normally didn’t wear much makeup, but I still felt a little naked without at least my mascara and foundation.

I padded out of the second bathroom and into an empty hallway. I stood for a moment, just listening to the silence. There were no more joyous, carefree shrieks coming from the backyard. No monotone baseball announcer calling balls and strikes on the radio. A strange feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. I was completely alone with Anissa.

The door to her bedroom was open; I hazarded a quick glance inside, but saw no sign of my hostess.

My feet were silent on the carpeted stairs as I descended to the first floor.

“Anissa?” I called.

“Back here,” I heard her velvety tone.

Floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I made my way back to the kitchen and family room combo. Anissa stood behind the kitchen island like a bartender waiting on my drink order. That decision had already been made for me, however. Two stemless wine glasses sat on the granite countertop. They’d both been filled halfway with white wine.

I’d seen her in professional attire, I’d seen her in a bathing suit, and I’d seen her in pajamas. Of the three options, I discovered I preferred the latter. Could a t-shirt be considered sexy? If so, she’d somehow managed to do it. The scoop necked t-shirt left her clavicle exposed. The thin material clung to the generous swell of soft breasts. Her naked shoulders suggested she wasn’t wearing a bra. The shorts she wore fit more loosely than when she’d worn my pajama bottoms, but they still left plenty of tan leg on display.

There was something unquestionably appealing about a beautiful woman stripped down to the basics—no makeup, no fancy clothes or jewelry, her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. I would Netflix and chill with this woman any day.

“Thanks for the pajamas,” I said.

“You’re very welcome,” she replied. “I would have waited until you were done with your shower, but I realized too late that I hadn’t actually gotten you any clothes to change into.”

“You were so quiet, I didn’t even know you came in.”

“I didn’t peek,” she promised.

“Are you sure about that?”

I saw the blush form first on her neck. I wanted to keep making her blush.

“I hope the wine wasn’t presumptuous,” she remarked.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I observed coyly.

“Touché.”

“Your house is really amazing,” I repeated my earlier appraisal. “How long have you lived here?”

“In Dearborn—all my life,” she told me. “In this house—about three years. I had a condo downtown before, but logistically it didn’t make a lot of sense to live so far from the airport. I’m only about fifteen minutes away now.”

“I’ve got you beat,” I said. “I live in Romulus.”

Anissa laughed. “Geez. You’re not kidding. You might as well live in the airport.”

“It’s convenient,” I shrugged. “I’m on call a lot, so it’s helpful to be able to get to the airport if I’m called in unexpectedly.”

“Could they still call you in tonight?” she asked.

“Last flight out leaves for Madison at 10:45p.m.”

Anissa glanced at the digital clock on her gas range. “Two more hours until you’re in the clear.”

“I don’t have to go in if they call me,” I noted. “There’s a whole group of flight attendants with less seniority who are permanently on reserve. They’ll even fly someone in from a different airport if they can’t find someone close to Detroit to take the flight.”

Anissa smiled