Page 11 of The Rebound Play
Sadly for me, it’s just a cinnamon roll.
I know, I know! Not my best move. But needs must, people! I had to get out of there without him seeing me, and with no exit in sight for me to slink out of undetected, I did what I had to do.
The fact that not only did it not work—thank you, Nell—but now I can feel the eyes of the one person I wanted to hide from boring into me like lasers, just adds to my utter humiliation.
Gingerly, I lift the hood that’s covering my eyes a fraction, only to see Dan towering over me as he takes in this prostrate woman, bizarrely lying on the hard floor, heating it up with her own mortification.
Nell must realize that she messed up because she says, “She’s fine, Dan. I think she just dropped a contact.”
A contact. Yes! I’m looking for my contact. That’s a totally plausible explanation for why I am where I am.
“But she’s lying down, flat on her back,” I hear Caroline say. “She doesn’t seem to be looking for anything. Just … resting. Which is beyond weird. Keira? Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not having a fit or something, are you?”
“She’s not epileptic.”
“People can become epileptic, you know. It happened to my cousin’s friend when she was about fourteen.”
Note to self: sit farther away from Caroline and the rest of the moms next time I bump into an ex I’ve been hiding from for ten years.
Not that I hope ever to repeat this particular scenario.
Dan clears his throat. “Can I help look for your contact, miss?”
He called me miss? Phew! He doesn’t know who I am.
“No, thank you,” I reply, purposely making my voice a little lower so he doesn’t catch on to who I am. “I’ve got it covered, sir.”
Benny giggles before he squats down beside me and pokes me in the ribs.
So not helpful.
“Are you sure? Because from where I’m standing, you look more like you’re simply lying down than looking for anything,” Dan replies, and I’m certain I catch a note of amusement in his voice.
“Yup. Totally sure. Bye now,” I say, waving my hand.
Benny giggles and pokes my ribs some more.
After a beat, I lift my hood a fraction only to see Dan is still standing there, only now he’s reaching for my open book on the bleacher and picking it up.
Why doesn’t he leave? Can he just chalk this experience up to some crazy woman who thought it best to search for her dropped contact by lying on her back?
But no. He’s still here, and now he’s got my book.
Wonderful.
“I always felt bad for Edgar in this book. He had a rough ride,” he says.
If Dan knows it’s me lying here, he’ll know that I’m itching to offer my opinion. It’s Heathcliff who had a rough ride in Wuthering Heights, not so much Edgar, even though, of course, the fact that Cathy married him without really loving him wasn’t exactly great for him. But I’m not about to admit that to Dan right now.
It takes all my strength not to respond.
“Here. Let me help you up,” he says, offering me an outstretched hand. “Kiki,” he adds, and my face goes from burning hot to positively nuclear.
I know the game’s up. I’ve been caught by my ex, trying—and failing—to hide from him.
I let out a defeated sigh before I bend my knees and take his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet, my hood slipping off to reveal my true identity.
“Thanks,” I say breezily, as though this kind of thing happens every day. “Oh, Dan. I didn’t realize it was you.”