Page 45

“What? I’m not.”

“Suuure.” He drags out the word. “Your hands tightening in my hair say otherwise, but your secret’s safe with me.”

I flick water at his face instead of answering, and he laughs, sputtering, swatting blindly in my direction.

“You don’t play fair,” he says through his laughter.

“Neither do you.” My hands find their way back to his hair to continue rubbing his scalp.

“Anyway,” he says, once he’s settled again, tipping his head back under my hands. “Tell me a happy memory. I want to know more about the things that bring you joy.”

I sit with his question for a moment. It shouldn’t take this long to think of something good. But most days, I’m just focused on getting through. Waking up because I have to, going to work because I need money, coming home to an empty apartment that feels too quiet, and doing it all again the next day. Most months, I don’t feel much of anything, and I think somewhere in all that surviving, I stopped knowing who I actually am outside of it.

The honest answer is him. Seeing his name on my phone makes all my days better.

Sure, there’s music, but music mostly makes me feel my feelings more—and that’s it.

“There’s this record store that I’ve been going to since I moved to Chicago. The guy who owns it doesn’t know much about me, but he always saves me whatever vinyl he thinks I’ll like based on what I bought last time. It’s pretty cool.”

Evan is grinning at me. “Should I be the one who’s jealous?”

“He’s like sixty.”

“Doesn’t mean anything, you could like older men. And if you do, remember I’m a year older than you.”

“Wow. A whole year. A true age-gap relationship,” I joke.

“Yep, how very scandalous of you.” He blinks water off his lashes. “Okay, I think I’m rinsed. Possibly over-massaged. You might’ve been enjoying that a little too much.”

“You asked me to,” I remind him as I remove my hands from his head.

“And it was perfect.” I step back, watching as water cascades around him, and his throat works. Water runs down his chest that’s decorated in my bruises as he shakes his hair. I have to actively remind myself that he already came three times tonight, but his body is perfect. One more wouldn’t hurt.

He catches me looking anyway and playfully rolls the end of his mustache between his fingers. “See something you like?”

“I was thinking about whether I could squeeze another orgasm out of you.”

“We’ll have to wait and see.” He grins, reaching around me for the shampoo dispenser, this time pouring some into his own palm. “But right now, it’s my turn. Switch spots with me.”

“I don’t need my hair washed.”

“Didn’t ask if you needed it. I said switch with me.” He raises an eyebrow, daring me to argue. Evan can be bossy when he feels like it, and I really like that side of him too, so I obey. He starts rubbing the same citrus shampoo into my hair, and his hands feel good. It makes me feel cared for, and I almost wish it didn’t feel as good as it does because I don’t want to get used to this level of effort. Especially not with someone who lives so far away from me.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now tilt your head back to rinse.”

I do, and when I open my eyes, he looks unreasonably pleased with himself. I don’t say anything; I just let him finish and let the water run over both of us until my fingers start to get pruney, and we get out of the shower.

As soon as we’re dried off, I glance at the bed. The comforter is kicked around a bit, and I hate that there isn’t an extra set of bedding readily available. “You want me to call down for a fresh comforter?”

“Will you judge me if I say no? The last thing I want is to put on real clothes and wait for housekeeping when I’d much rather climb under the comforter. Besides, I don’t think I really got much cum on it.”

“Fair,” I acknowledge as I tug the comforter back, exposing the clean sheets beneath, and motion for him to join me. He climbs in and immediately gravitates toward me, tucking himself against my side with his head on my chest.

I lie there for a second, my arm hovering awkwardly before I let it settle around him like before. This isn’t really something I do, but his weight against me is warm, and he smells like the same citrus shampoo we both used, and I sink into it before I can talk myself out of it.

“Come to dinner with my family tomorrow,” Evan blurts.

I go still against him. “What?”