This Is Me (Cover Girlfriend, Book Three)

Episode Twenty-Eight

Terri

I listen to the sound of the shower behind the closed door. My eyes are locked to the television, though I don't see much of the movie, and can't even recall the title; do my best to keep the tears at bay.

Today sucked.

Royally?

Epically.

And my heart hurts for it; the fact that I've committed to a nightmare because I owe my life to Lincoln. Not that I hear them anymore. But. It's almost worse; those remembered notes and the silence that surrounds me at night rather than the day I'd heard them-

I'm shocked enough to break out of my personal dissection at the knock on the door; tears dry on my cheeks. My heart stills.

Wouldn't Carlos have just walked in?

But. If it's not him.

Who the fuck is here?

Frozen like a caught animal noticing its predator, everything leaves me but the sound of that noise. Which can't possibly have happened. No way someone is coming to see Lincoln - he's a hermit.

I wriggle out of the guilt that reminds me - because of you, and your nudity.

Flick my eyes down the hallway where the light sound of showered rain can be heard. Wonder if I'm hallucinating.

Then.

No. There it is again.

I unfold myself from the chair; make my way to the front door, and peek through the hole.

My body freezes in near paralysis; nipples hard as diamonds as my legs clench.

What the fuck is DICK doing here?

But. Oh, Lord, it gets worse.

Just as I'm contemplating telling him to go to Hell, Carlos comes up behind him, food in hand; I catch Dick take in his disguised figure.

Screwed anyways, I turn the knob and open the door; do my best to keep the sneer out of my voice, "Dick. What are you doing here?"

My gaze meets his light brown eyes, wide with shock. I take in his dirty blond hair, cut around his ears, and his fit figure in a white tee that hugs his chest beneath the denim jacket that contrasts the black of his jeans.

Oh, the look on his face as he takes me in is priceless.

Bastard got sexier.

I scoff to myself - Dick.

Pulling the door wider, I wave my hand as if to say 'come on in.'

Ignore Carlos' questioning gaze until he leans in to kiss my cheek; whispers, "Where's Linc?"

Then realize how awkward this situation is for all of us as I close the door; he moves to the dining room table and offloads the food - a large pizza box and bag of breadsticks.

Dick stands to the side, eyes drifting between Carlos and I as if he can't believe what he's seeing. As if months of public acknowledgment to our being a couple can't possibly be true.

Carlos in black sweats and a hoodie, plus worn cap; dark sunglasses. Me in a loose, light green sweater and black yoga pants. Both of us relaxed. Almost domesticated.

I bite back a laugh when Lincoln walks out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, dressed in a tight muscle shirt that clings - almost translucent - against his wet skin; a pair of black sweats.