“I—” The words are right there. So close. “I’m going to go turn on the tub.”
I escape to the bathroom. The jetted tub is enormous, taking up almost half the space. I turn on the taps and adjust the temperature. Steam starts rising immediately.
There’s hotel bubble bath on the counter. I pour in probably too much and bubbles form instantly, multiplying, threatening to overflow.
“Oh god, that’s way too many bubbles,” I say, watching them rise. “I think I broke the tub. Can you break a tub with bubbles?”
“JuJu.” His voice comes from right behind me.
I didn’t hear him come in but he’s close enough that I can feel the heat of him against my back.
“You’re rambling,” he says softly.
“I’m not rambling. I’m just concerned about the?—”
His fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress. The sound of it lowering is loud in the small space.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.
“Is this okay?” I sound almost hysterical. “Romeo, I’ve been thinking about this for days.”
The zipper reaches the bottom and the dress loosens. He brushes it forward off my shoulders and it pools around my feet.
I’m standing there almost naked and I can feel his eyes on me.
“You’re so—” His hands skim down my arms then land on my thighs and slide up over my hips before he finally rests them on my waist. “You have no idea, do you?”
“Idea about what?”
“How much I’ve wanted this. How much I’ve wanted you.” Hismouth is at my neck now. “How many times I thought about what you’d look like.”
“And?”
“Better. So much better than I imagined.”
I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes are dark and there’s color high on his cheekbones.
“I need you to know something,” I say, and my voice comes out shakier than I meant. “I’m not—I haven’t done this a lot. Like, barely at all. I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”
Rodriguez cups my face. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I blink. “What?”
“You. Being you. Being honest.” He kisses me softly. “And for the record? There’s literally nothing you can do wrong here.”
“But what if I?—”
“Nothing. You. Can. Do. Wrong.” He punctuates each word with a kiss. “You could just stand there and breathe and you’d be doing it right.”
I step out of the dress carefully. His hands are still on my waist, fingertips barely grazing my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he holds on too tight. The calluses catch slightly as his thumbs trace the curve of my ribs, and I can feel the tremor in his hands—this man who got in a bar fight three hours ago is shaking just from touching me
“The tub’s going to overflow,” I whisper.
“I don’t care.”
