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Exhaling a ragged breath, I walked over to the door and closed it quietly.
What the fuck was I going to do?
36Bad News
SHANNON
It took me a ridiculous amount of time to get the temperature right in Johnny’s shower, because apparently, he liked to incinerate his skin when showering. When I finally got the temperature down to a bearable heat and felt the power jets wash over my body, I had a hard time getting out.
Seriously, his shower was amazing.
It was a combo—a bath with an overhead shower—and I had to stand in an oval-shaped tub with a curtain drawn across, but I swear it only added to the most luxuriating wash of my life. Using his shampoo and soap felt weirdly inappropriate, like it wasn’t something I should be doing, but I was filthy and definitely smelly, so I lathered my body with samples from every available, fancy-looking bottle on the rack.
When I was finally clean and smelling like boy’s bodywash—rather than wet dog—I climbed out, wrapped myself in a fresh towel, and bundled my dirty clothes in a ball. The smell wafting from my clothes was so gross that I immediately dropped the bundle and had to breathe through my mouth for several moments to stop myself from gagging.
Joey and Gibsie were right. I really did stink. There was no way I could put anything I owned back on without projectile vomiting.
Pressing my ear against the door, I listened carefully to make sure his bedroom was empty before unlocking the door and stepping out.
Seeing that the room 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 midthigh, 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!
