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She shakes her head, looking away again. “Nothing.”
What was she going to ask? If she could touch it?
I skim her body with my eyes again. She let me wash her hair. Maybe she’ll let me watch her touch herself.
“What?” she asks.
I look up, realizing she’s staring at me. I need to get out of here. I grab the towel over the rod and open the curtain. “Nothing.”
I wrap the towel around my waist and step out.
She finishes and shuts off the shower, following me out. “Are you going to do it tonight?” she asks.
“What?”
She doesn’t reply, and I look at her, waiting. Something mischievous lights in her eyes, and she glances to my dick again, now covered with the towel.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tell her, grabbing the only other towel off the shelf and handing it to her.
I want to masturbate. Badly. But I won’t tell her that.
She smiles, happy enough to shoot her shot.
“Did you get the necklace?” I ask.
She nods, wrapping the towel around her body.
“Lock your doors, understand?” I pinch her chin, forcing her to pay attention. “There are eyes everywhere on this street, keeping an eye out for your safety, but that doesn’t mean your old friends won’t try to come for you.”
Farrow will try to stop them, but not if he’s passed out. She needs to lock up and be alert.
I take my phone off the sink counter and turn to open the door, but she speaks up. “I could sleep at your house,” she says.
I look over my shoulder at her, heat pooling in my stomach. She’s not safer in my house.
I narrow my eyes. “You stay here.”
She shrugs, and I open the door, shuffling her through.
“There were some men’s joggers in the closet when I got here. If you want them,” she offers.
“Yeah.” I follow her into the hallway, toward her room. I’d rather not walk outside in a towel.
But I only take three steps when I crash into her.
“Dylan, what are you doing?”
She’s stopped in the hallway, and I follow her gaze to the first floor below.
Farrow, Calvin, and Constin stand in the foyer with beers, surrounded by other students talking and laughing as music plays. But nearly everyone’s attention is on us as Calvin holds up his phone, filming.
“Goddammit,” I growl.
I push Dylan across the hall and into her room, and then I swing back around the banister and charge.
“Delete it,” I snap.
People scurry out of the way, girls squealing, some giggling as Calvin hurriedly types. “Just a minute…” he sings.
