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IT WASN'T ROCKET science—Takoda was avoiding me.
He asked if I was doing okay, if I needed anything. He relayed a message from my mom. He peeked in to check if I'd fallen asleep, then got food delivered to our room. But he stayed on his self-imposed ban and didn't come back in. I could've told him a lot of things—that it was him I wanted, that I wished he'd stop being a gentleman and come occupy the space next to me, that I missed cuddling with him, the sensation of his fingers in my hair, how he randomly kissed me and sent me tilting. I could've, but I forced my eyes closed and kept them that way until I had no choice but to drift off.
For a moment, he was in my dreams, his presence an achingly beautiful thing, and I took comfort in that.
As we moved around the room later in the evening, in an effort to get ready on time, we crashed into each other at the bathroom entrance. He was a shirtless mass of lean muscle and smooth skin, I was five foot seven and barefoot in a criminally short towel. Plus, my hands were occupied with bathing supplies, and I had wavering stamina. So I'd prepared for a rather embarrassing fall. Thankfully, he also had impressive instincts and held onto me in the nick of time.
"Shit, are you okay?" he asked as he steadied me and my things, and my tiny towel slipped down my chest a few inches. His eyes strayed down my frame, his palms hot against my skin in the seconds it took before I pulled it back up. I was too aware that he was only in shorts, too aware that we were standing too close, that he was touching me, and as if he read my thoughts, he let go. "Sorry."
Takoda apologized to me. Before, he would've made a comment about my towel. He would've kissed me, or pretended like he was going to. Then I would've playfully asked if he'd like to help me take it off.
The part of me completely influenced by Robin—who hadn't failed to remind me to have the time of my life once she got around to replying to my texts—was tempted to suggest it, throw it out there to lighten the mood, but I was still slightly sane, so I knew it would only make things more awkward. We'd showered together before—once—but—God, what was wrong with me?
Again, I cursed Robin for putting ideas in my head.
I stood beneath the showerhead for a minute and didn't realize I was thinking about him until I caught my useless reflection in the foggy mirror. Overall, my shower took a lot less time than usual, and he seemed to share similar feelings with me, because he was out of the bathroom as quickly as he went in when it was his turn.
I wore a matching vintage set—patterned shorts and a button-down gifted to me by Robin back in January—and put on the pair of black sneakers I brought along with the heels. My hair was still damp by the time I was ready, so I left it down, hoping it would air-dry to a certain degree before I reached the stylists. I put my dress and the Valentinos in a tote bag Coco borrowed me, then stood in front of the mirror for minutes and tried to convince myself that I didn't have to feel weird about walking out of this room and seeing him again. If anyone was to feel weird seeing the other after a rushed shower, it was him, because look at me. I was beautiful. The way the sky was.
