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nasty, and I remember Dean showing up at my door.
Oh, my God. Dean.
Where is Anthony? A wild panic grips me as I stand up and rush down the hall toward his room. What kind of mother am I? Has he been alone all this time? As I step into the hallway, I hear the shower running in the bathroom.
Is Anthony in the shower? He's old enough to give himself baths, but I don’t understand why he would be showering in the middle of the afternoon. Oh God, I wonder if his school has been calling.
I walk toward the bathroom door, it’s wide open and I step inside. The sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s not Anthony, but Dean. What is he doing in my shower? Did I fall down a rabbit hole?
The clear glass shower door gives me a clear view of him. His back is to me, and he didn’t hear me come in.
We were kids the last time I saw his bare back, but the spray of dark freckles across his shoulders is just as prominent now as it was then. Except, his shoulders are so much broader. His back is a study of texture and tone. He's so well-muscled.
I wonder if he still plays lacrosse. His shoulders say yes. One of his hands is braced on the wall and his head is bowed.
My eyes follow the path of the water as it cuts down valleys and crests created by the muscles in his back. His waist is girded with muscle and tapers in from the breadth of his back. My eyes continue their feast, and I drink in his perfect backside.
I forget for a moment I’m in desperate need of a shower myself. I forget I’m tired and my chest is burning with the effort of walking down the hallway.
My body instantaneously remembers how much I want him. I just stare, feeling the desire that almost overwhelmed me last time I was with him come roaring back to life.
I'm horrified when I hear a moan rip from my own throat. Dean’s head whips around at the sound and our eyes meet. His eyes show surprise, which then turns to heat. He smiles lazily at me.
“You’re up,” he says, speaking loud enough to be heard over the running water. His back is still to me and one hand is still braced on the wall. I have to force myself to stay focused on his face. His beautiful, familiar face. I don’t have the strength to deal with this today.
“I’m up. Where is Anthony? I only remember bits and pieces of the last few days.” I hope I’m able to sound neutral because I’m feeling anything but.
“He’s at school. You’ve been in and out of sleep for three days. You have the flu. A really bad case.”
“So, you’ve been checking on me for three days?” I ask. I feel like I should be asking so much more, but I'm utterly confused. I need to get my thoughts in order.
He smiles at me, gently. “Not checking on you. I’ve been staying here. You think I’d leave your kid alone while you’re basically dead to the world? I’ve been feeding him, hanging out with him. I took him to school today. He seems okay.”
“Oh. Wow. I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, completely at a loss.
“Well, how about you let me finish in here, and I’ll come out so we can talk?” he says with a smile. And I remember I am standing in the bathroom while he is showering. I turn to leave and say over my shoulder, “I’m sorry. Okay, yes.”
“Milly!” he calls after me, and I stop.
I take a second to gather myself, to try to calm my blush, before I turn around and say casually, “Yes?”
His smile is full-blown and so carnal, I grab the door handle for support at the sight of it. I haven’t seen it in so long. His eyes, though, are full of mirth.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can join me. There’s plenty of room for two, and I was just thinking about you.”
It’s only then, when he says this, I realize the hand not braced against the wall is in between his thighs. I watch his arm move, up and down.
My eyes shoot back to his face, his smile is still there, but his eyes are no longer laughing. They are hooded and serious while he’s watching me.
I feel a throb start between my legs and I feel moisture, unbidden and unexpected, as my body responds to his invitation. I bite my lower lip to stop the groan that collects in my throat.
I straighten my back and say with as much indignation as my aroused mind will allow me, “No, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll go shower in my own bathroom. By myself.” I turn and rush out. Dean’s laughter taunts me as I make my way down the hall.
I walk into my room and shut the door behind me. I lean against it and try to compose myself. I rip my sweatshirt off, yank my leggings down, and leave a trail of clothes in my wake as I strip and make a beeline for my bathroom.
I turn the water on and hazard a look in the mirror. It’s worse than I thought. My hair is a total disaster. My skin looks oily and my lips are chapped.
