“You said you haven’t showered in days.”
“That wasn’t me telling you to wash my hair,” I said. “That was a warning.”
He shrugged. “I’m running a bath.”
“You don’t have to?—”
He lifted me out of bed and carried me fireman style to the bathroom, setting me down on the edge of the tub. Water filled behind me as he gently undid the buttons of my pajama top.
I stared at him, the room growing thick with steam.
I didn’t understand this—him. I was with Graham for years and he never treated me this well. Technically, I wasn’t even dating Calder. We weren’t anything.
After shimmying out of my pants, Calder helped me into the tub.
He rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. My eyes dropped to the now exposed skin. Black tattoos crawled across the thick, carved muscles of his forearm. A vein throbbed on his hand.
“Is the temperature okay?” he asked, fixing the final sleeve and getting to his knees. He hung his arms over the tub, fingers lightly touching the water.
The temperature was great. Hot, but not scalding, melting away all my aches and pains.
I swallowed and nodded.
A small smile quirked his lip, and he reached behind me for the shampoo.
“You really don’t have to,” I said.
He paused, arm outstretched behind me, our eyes locked. “Iwantto, Shay.”
Still uncertain. I nodded anyway.
Before nerves could wrap tight around my ribs, Calder’s hands found my scalp, massaging. He lathered shampoo into my hair. Then conditioner.
I closed my eyes, sinking into him.
This isn’t casual to me, Shay. It never was.
His words came back to me as his fingers massaged my temples, my neck, my shoulders. Digging into the muscles, releasing the soreness. The pain I felt from being sick melting away under his touch and the hot bath.
Calder finished, wrapping my hair in a towel.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and he helped me out of the tub, gently tugging me up by my biceps. He kept me pressed against him as he reached for a towel.
“I’m getting you all wet,” I said, noting how his black shirt and pants sucked up the water on my skin. Calder ignored me, wrapping me in a towel and slowly drying me off.
Again I felt a sticky, choking sensation in my throat.
This was too much.
He slid me into a pair of clean pajama pants one foot at a time. Then dropped the matching top over my head. The fabric was warm, like he’d heated them up in the dryer.
Calder smoothed the shirt across my body, making sure it was in place. Then his hands settled on my waist.
We stood there.
My feet bare on the tile. Something tender in his eyes that made the sticky feeling in my throat grow barbs.
