Page 52 of Xavier

Yup, I can hear that one, too.

Stop laughing.

Apparently, she can hear me as well.

Fine. Yes, I can meet you. It will be my pleasure.

Don't be expecting any pleasure.

Just that of your company, Malynda.

Isabella.

Yeah, you can bring her too. the more the merrier.

That shut her up. I drag my body out of bed and walk to the bathroom. My apartment might look sparse, but I actually spent a lot of time renovating the interior to some very exact specifications. The first being a bathroom you could have a Roman orgy in. Specifically, an inordinately large shower with a custom-made rainfall shower head and two side shower nozzles and water pressure that could be used for torture by the CIA. It can be also be used as a steam room, with a bench that runs the length of one side of the cubicle. The walls and floor are laid in Pompeii Scarpeletto, a gray Italian natural stone, that is smooth and cooling against my skin. Healing to the touch. And after my sparring sessions with Ram, I need all the therapy, hydro or otherwise, that I can get. While others prefer to layback in a whirlpool tub, I prefer that the soreness is massaged out of my muscles by shower jets.

This is my sanctuary. I return here in sickness and health.

The lights turn on as soon as I walk into the bathroom.

"On," I say, and the audio system starts up. A playlist of nature sounds I’ve curated to switch my mind and body into gear every morning.

I abhor the onslaught of TVs at Ash Industries’ gym that Kaine had built for his employees. Kaine insists on having all news channels up at once in the morning, so he can absorb everything.

My morning ritual requires serenity before the inevitable chaos of my work day.

I make sure the small screen in my shower is hooked up to my phone's Bluetooth and I press the button on the touch pad to turn the water on to my morning shower program. The jets scald my back for 30 seconds before it switches to ice cold, shocking my body awake.

There's a beep and a glance at the screen tells me Malynda's replied.

I don't bother to stop the instant grin spreading across my face, completely resigned to the fact that she has turned me into a giggling school boy. I haven't felt like this in years. Twelve, to be exact.

"What time?"

"Quippy!"

"What time, Xavier?"

"12? For lunch?"

"2. AFTER lunch."

"Fine. Make me eat my PB&J by myself."

"2 it is. I'll send you the address later."

"Okay, I'll be the one looking sad and hungry."

The emoji I get back is ruder than I expected and the echo of my laughter in the shower cubicle lasts long after her message is sent.

Then I lean back, my hand reaching for hardness, trying to think of her in all the ways I’ve missed her.

***

"Holy shit. I want that one!"

"No." She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me past the race car bed display and down toward the back of the store. “And anyway, I don’t remember you liking Ferrari’s.”