Page 15 of In His Skates

“Exactly what I said. I didn’t bring it with me.”

She puts her hands on her hips and glowers. Fuck. Even though I’m staring at myself, I can see her staring daggers at me.

“I can’t believe you! How could you be so thoughtless? Not only did you leave my house wearing pj’s and no shoes, but you also didn’t bring my phone?”

I return the glare. “First of all, when I left your place, I thought I was dreaming, so excuse me for not dressing up like a fucking princess. Second of all, what’s the big deal that I don’t have your phone?”

“Oh my God. What’s the big deal?” She steps closer. “I need to be reachable. If Bobbi calls and I don’t pick up the phone, he’ll come by to check on me. We can’t let anyone see us like this.”

“News flash, sweetheart. If we can’t switch back into our bodies in the next half hour, people will see us like this. I have commitments I can’t miss, and I’m sure you do too. We can’t simply hide away.”

The blood drains from Leigh’s face. Man, I can’t get over watching myself go through all these emotions. I’m sure it must be freaky for her too.

I get up and touch her arms. It’s weird as fuck that I have to look up in order to maintain eye contact, but I try to ignore it. “Listen, we’ll figure it out, all right? Let’s take things one step at a time.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “You’re right. First order of business is to go back to my place so we can get my phone and you can get dressed.”

“You need to get dressed too. I know I’m ripped, but I have no desire to parade through LA wearing nothing but my underwear.”

Leigh blushes, and hell, I didn’t know my face did that when I was embarrassed. “Of course I’ll put clothes on. I’m not a maniac.”

I smirk. “Confess that you checked me out.”

Her face twists into a scowl and gets redder. “Get over yourself. I have bigger fish to fry than ogling your six-pack.”

“Sure, sure.” I walk to my closet to grab clothes. There’s no way I’ll let Leigh go through my stuff.

When I return to the room, I find her sitting on the bed with her arms crossed and a huge pout on her lips. I toss the clothes at her. “Here, wear those.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t offer a retort, but the sourpuss expression doesn’t leave her face. She gets dressed in a huff, then rubs her chin. “Your scruff itches.”

“You don’t have time to shave. We’re on a time crunch, remember?”

“Ugh. Right.”

The sting in these eyes thanks to Leigh’s dried lenses becomes unbearable. That’s it. They’re coming out.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“What does it look like?” I remove the lenses, and immediate relief follows. But I think I still need eyedrops.

I blink a few times, waiting for the blurriness to go away, but my eyesight remains atrocious. “What the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

“I told you I wear contacts, dumbass.”

“You never said you were as blind as a bat.”

“You never asked. Now come on. We have to go.”

LEIGH

Mercifully, even with the traffic at this hour, the trip from Keanu’s downtown LA apartment to my house in Santa Monica takes only half an hour. We barely speak on the way, which is fine by me. It’s a lot to process. I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream.

No sooner do I step into my house than I hear my phone ring in my bedroom. I run up the stairs two steps at a time. It’s ridiculous how fast I can move in Keanu’s body. It isn’t like I’m not in shape, but he’s a professional athlete, and there’s a glaring difference. Maybe once this is all over, I’ll kick my workout routine up a notch.

Keanu follows me at a much slower pace. He grunts, and I look over my shoulder. He’s clutching the railing for dear life.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.