I really did stink.
There was no way I could put anything I owned back on without projectile vomiting.
Pressing my ear against it, I listened carefully to make sure his bedroom was empty before unlocking the door and stepping out.
Seeing that it was empty, I exhaled a sigh of relief and tiptoed over to his bed to where a massive pile of clothes was strewn in a heap on the edge of the mattress.
Tucking my damp hair over one shoulder, I began to sort through the pile of clothes he had laid out for me.
Sifting through half a dozen t-shirts, I grabbed the smallest one – that happened to be size XL.
It was blue in color, soft to the touch, and it smelled like Johnny.
I quickly shrugged it on.
The hem fell to my mid-thigh, the short sleeves reaching my elbows, letting me know that I was practically a hobbit in comparison to him.
Shivering from the cold, I moved on to rummage through the bottoms, my anxiety rising with every ginormous pair of sweatpants I picked up.
I held one pair against my body and released a frustrated sob when they reached my chest.
My eyes landed on the pair of white boxer shorts strewn in the middle of the pile and I blew out a breath.
Did he mean to leave those there?
Were they meant for me?
Was that weird?
Holy hell, were they Calvin Klein's?
On closer inspection, I confirmed that they were, indeed, designer boxer shorts.
My knickers came in a pack of seven for a fiver.
In this moment, I was acutely aware of our social differences.
His mother was a fashion designer for god's sake.
Mine was a cleaner.
His father was a barrister.
Mine spent plenty of time in court, too – on the other side of the law.
His house reeked of money and luxury.
Mine reeked of whiskey and pain.
I looked to the sweatpants in my hands and then back to the elastic-waisted boxers on the bed.
If anything belonging to Johnny was going to even remotely fit me, it would be those.
Trying not to think about it too much, I reached for the boxers and quickly stepped into them and pulled them up.
I presumed they were the snug fitting boxers, but on me they were loose and baggy, however they were staying up on my hips.
What are you doing?
What the hell are you doing?
Johnny's penis has touched these things.
And now your vagina has.
You're practically having sex with him!
Uncertainty took over then and I quickly yanked them off before snatching the sweatpants back up and stepping into them.
Like I predicted, his sweatpants were enormous on me, coming up to my chest, and the moment I let go of the waistband they fell to my ankles.
Yanking them back up, I clutched the waistband and shuffled awkwardly into the bathroom, trying not to trip over the legs in the process.
Retrieving my hair tie from where I'd left it on the shower rack, I tied a loose knot at the side of the pants and secured them up.
For about two seconds, until they dropped to the floor again.
Morose, I yanked the boxer shorts back on, ignored the voice in my head telling me that this was wrong, retrieved my hair tie from the traitor sweatpants, and tied a firm knot in the boxers.
Unsure of what to do next, I returned to his room and began to fold the discarded clothes.
I had no bloody idea why I was doing this, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t and I didn’t want him to be left with wrinkled clothes because he dragged them all out of his wardrobe for my benefit.
I was folding the last t-shirt on Johnny's bed when I noticed something sticking out from under his bed.
Something that looked just like me.
Bending down, I retrieved the newspaper with shaky hands and just stared at the picture of us.
He kept it.
In his room.
Under his bed.
My heart leapt against my chest.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It's a nice picture.
That's all.
Don’t read into this.
I was completely absorbed in my thoughts when a low groaning noise came from somewhere close by.
Dropping the newspaper on the floor, I remained completely still and listened carefully.
A few seconds later, the groaning noise came again.
From the bed!
Freaked out, I grabbed a random folded t-shirt in my hands with a death grip and lowered my face to where his duvet was balled up at the foot of the bed.
I was certain that's where the groaning came from.
"Hello?" I whispered, eyes locked on the duvet.
It moved in response, the quilt moving back and forth rapidly.
"Oh my god," I screamed, staggering backwards.
Dropping Johnny's t-shirt on the floor, I pressed a hand to my chest and watched the bed like it was a scene straight out of The Poltergeist.
"Is someone in there?" I asked when my voice returned.
I had to be imagining this.
It hadn't really moved.
I was just hyperalert.
I was losing my bloody mind.
"Hello?"
The duvet moved again.
"Oh my god!"
The duvet started to rise up.
Oh, screw that!
This time when I screamed, it was at the top of my lungs, as I lunged away from the bed.
Knocking up against the chest of drawers behind me, I lost my balance and sprawled face-first on the floor, grazing my chin on the hardwood floor in the process.
Undeterred by my faceplant, I scrambled to my feet, only to collapse in a tangled heap when my feet got stuck in his giant pants that I'd forgotten to pick up.
Kicking my foot free, and still screaming my head off, I dragged myself off the floor and bolted for the bedroom door.
It swung inwards at the same time I was pulling at the handle and I was greeted with a bewildered looking Johnny.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, eyes flashing with concern. "Shannon, what the fuck happened?"
"There's something in your room!" I screamed, lunging at him.
"Oh my god," I half-sobbed/half-screamed as I crawled up his huge frame and wrapped my arms and legs around him. "You have to save me!"
"What do you mean there's something in my room?" Johnny demanded as his arms came around my waist. "Shannon?"
He tried to pry me off him, but I held on tighter, clenching my thighs and arms as tight as I could.
Exhaling heavily, he rubbed my back with one hand and asked in a much softer tone, "What happened?"
"There's something in your bed."
Clenching my eyes shut, I clung to his body for all I was worth.
"Under the covers," I strangled out as a huge shudder rolled through me. "I'm not messing. I saw it move – twice!" I buried my face in his neck and choked out, "I think you have a ghost in your bed!"
"Shannon, I don’t have a ghost in my bed," Johnny replied, sounding amused now.
"Yes, you do," I snapped, shuddering again. "I saw it – and don’t laugh at me."
"I’m not laughing at you," he told me – while he laughed. "Come on, I'll prove to you there's no ghost in here."
He moved to walk into the room and my hands shot out, gripping the doorframe to stop him.
"Take me home," I begged, wide-eyed and horrified. "Please. Don’t bring me in there. I am terrified, Johnny!"
He brought me back in anyway, marching into the room with me locked around him like a baby monkey.
"Look at your ghost, Shannon," he chuckled when we reached the bed.
"I can't." I closed my eyes and shook my head, burying my face back in the crook of his neck. "I don’t want to see." He smelled so good, whatever cologne he was wearing was wafting up my nose, so at least I could die smelling something wonderful.
A bark filled my ears then, stalling me mid-meltdown.
"Hey, baby," Johnny cooed. "You scared the shite out of my friend here."
Baby?
Slowly, I lifted my head and turned to face the bed.
A black Labrador poked out from beneath his duvet.
A tsunami of relief crashed through me followed swiftly by a generous dollop of reality.
The dog nudged out from under the covers, tail wagging so hard it slapped against the mattress.
"Shannon, this is Sookie," Johnny chuckled. "Your ghost."