You Say It First - Katie Cotugno Page 0,57
softly shut behind him. He spent his whole shift trying not to smile.
She called that night as he was getting ready for bed. “What are you doing?” she wanted to know.
Colby stuck his toothbrush in the holder and wandered down the hall to his room, Tris bumping against his shins before trotting off toward the kitchen. “Just heading to bed.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, a lilt in her voice he’d never heard before. “How about that; me too.”
“Oh,” he said dumbly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. They’d talked on the phone when they were both in bed plenty of times, but it felt different now that they’d actually been in a bed together, even if nothing had technically happened. Especially since nothing technically had. He sat back against the pillows, then scooted down until he was on his back, holding the phone with one hand and resting the other on his stomach. “How was your day?” he finally asked.
“It was okay,” she said. “I mean, I spent most of it driving.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “That makes sense, yeah.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. It felt awkward, suddenly, like it hadn’t on the phone before she’d come to visit; then they both spoke at once. “So I was listening to this podcast,” Meg started at the same time Colby blurted, “I texted Keith today.”
It was true, though he hadn’t exactly planned on mentioning it to her. “I told him I’d meet with that guy he wanted to set me up with, the construction dude.”
“You did?” Meg’s voice was eager. “Colby, that’s amazing!”
“Relax,” he said. “It’s just a breakfast.”
“Yeah,” Meg said, “but still. Look at you, going after what you want. I’m very pleased with myself over here, I’m not going to lie to you. Next thing you know I’ll have you knocking on doors for Annie Hernandez.”
Colby made a face. “This is all your doing, huh?”
“I’m taking partial credit.”
“Uh-huh. You can Venmo me for part of my breakfast, then.”
“I will,” Meg said immediately. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you.”
“Okay, okay, enough.” It made him squirm a little, and not in a good way. He didn’t know why she cared so much. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
Colby considered that for a moment, picturing her back at home in Philadelphia. He wanted to know what her bedroom looked like, but it felt creepy to ask. “What are you wearing?” he blurted instead.
“Seriously?” Meg laughed, and Colby felt like an idiot, only then she actually answered. “A T-shirt.”
“With a feminist slogan on it?”
“Shut up,” Meg replied. “No. Just plain gray.”
“What else?”
Meg didn’t answer for a moment. “I mean, underwear,” she said finally. “But that’s it.”
Colby swallowed hard. “That’s it, huh?”
“That is it,” Meg echoed, a hint of a tease in her voice. “What are you wearing?”
“Just basketball shorts.”
“Is that always how you sleep?”
“When I’m not in hotel rooms with random girls, pretty much, yeah.”
“Rude,” Meg said. Then, more quietly: “I’m not random.”
“No,” Colby agreed, then cleared his throat a little. He thought of how soft her body was, how warm and smooth the skin of her rib cage had been, and moved his hand off his stomach so he didn’t get any ideas. “You’re not random at all.”
He wanted to tell her other stuff: that he was afraid of how he felt about her, that nothing about this seemed easy or smart. That there was a tiny part of him that hadn’t wanted to text her at all today, that had wanted to end things right now so that last night in the hotel room could be hermetically sealed, un-fuck-uppable. Nobody can pull the rug out from under you if you decide there isn’t a rug to begin with.
But that was ridiculous.
Right?
“I should go to sleep,” she said finally, yawning into the receiver; Colby thought of her wet, pink tongue before he could help himself, and balled his free hand into a fist.
“Okay,” he managed, and to his credit his voice was only the slightest bit strangled. “Have a good sleep.”
“Night, Colby.”
Colby hit end and set his phone on the nightstand, then rolled over and groaned once into the pillows before he turned out the light.
Doug Robard was already sitting in a booth at Bob Evans when Colby got there early the next morning, drinking coffee and reading the paper in cargo pants and a polo shirt. Colby didn’t know what he’d expected—it wasn’t like he thought the guy was going to show up wearing a feather boa—but he still