Page 38 of Not Safe for Work

I’m not even sure who I’m mad at right now.

Other than Whistle Mouth.

My hatred for her spans the widest, deepest sea.

I shake out my hair, raining flakes of mud onto the rubberized floor. I’m sure my gym shoes are ruined, and I hope that I can salvage my clothing.

By the time we arrive at our suite, I feel like I’ve been dipped in glue. A trail of grime streaks the pristine tiled floors, and I make a mental note to tip the cleaning staff extra tomorrow.

“Can I use the shower?” Rafe asks, finally breaking our stalemate. “The tub isn’t ideal for getting this off, and I’m not really a bath guy.”

“Sure,” I reply because it’s a reasonable request, and I’m not a monster. “You might as well go first. This is going to take me a while.” I gesture to the stygian mass of mud-caked hair plastered to my head. I’ll need an entire bottle of shampoo to get this out.

“You sure?” he asks, clearly doubtful of my uncharacteristic graciousness.

I blink at him. “Just don’t use all the hot water.”

He rolls his eyes and disappears into the bathroom, crumbs of mud littering a path in his wake like he’s luring small children to his gingerbread house. A few moments later, I hear the water start.

It would be a dick move to sully any of this pristine white furniture with a muddy ass print, so I grab a can of sparkling water from the fridge and head outside to wait on the balcony. The rain has momentarily cleared as clouds hang in the sky, but at least I can watch the sun inching towards the horizon. Today’s winning team will be sitting down to dinner soon, enjoying a spread of high-end cuisine and the singularly unique flavor of success.

Before we left the Blue Lagoon Adventure Park, I noticed Rafe in a heated discussion with his father. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I assumed it was about the contest. Why does David care? Surely, Rafe’s future at WMC is already secured?

My phone buzzes, and I fish it out of my waistband pocket, wiping a smear of mud off the screen. It’s a text from Molly.

Molly: How was your day? How’s Andy?

After we were all disqualified, Andy played it off like he wasn’t bothered, but I could tell he was irritated with me and Lan. My instinct was to apologize, but I reined in the urge. We did nothing wrong. It was an accident, and Whistle Mouth was out of line.

Me: Eh, I don’t know about him.

Molly: Why?

Me: Because

I pause and stare at the screen, unsure of why I’m hesitating to tell her this.

Me: Rafe and Hannah broke up. That’s what they’re fighting about.

Molly: I WAS RIGHT

Me: But she wants to get back together, and she keeps calling him.

Molly: Oh… that’s… interesting?

Me: Is it?

Molly: I’m not sure.

Rafe calls to me from inside the suite. “I’m done. Shower’s all yours.”

The door to the second bathroom slams, and I stare at my blank screen. I’ll text Molly later to dissect every angle of this development. First, I desperately need to get this mud off.

It takes several shampoos and an entire bottle of body wash until I’m finally clean. When I’m done, I pull on my silk robe and emerge into the living area, toweling off my hair.

I spy Rafe sitting on the balcony, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. Good grief, is he trying to kill me? I nibble the inside of my lip in hesitation, decide I’m being a drama queen, and head outside.

“Hey,” I say, suddenly and painfully aware of the single layer of silk standing between Rafe and my naked body. He taps on his phone for a second and then tosses it on the table beside him, exhaling a sigh. Tucking his hands behind his head, he leans back and tilts his face to the setting sun.