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His bedroom? He wanted me to shower here? In his shower? “You want me to shower here?”
His brows arched. It was subtle, but for him it was like a full-out expression. “You need a shower or not?”
I licked my dry lips. God, why was my throat so dry? “Well, yeah.”
He pushed away from the doorframe, and suddenly, his six-foot-four height seemed a hell of a lot taller. “I’ll check the tank. But it’s old and likely needs replaced. Might be a few days. Could be weeks if not in stock.”
“Oh. Uh. Right. But I don’t need to shower now…. Well, I do, but I can stop by Hettie’s and—”
He cut me off. “Macayla. Use the shower.”
It was no big deal. It was just a shower.
But it wasn’t just a shower. It was his shower, and it probably smelled like him, and suddenly I was having a hard time not imagining him standing in his shower, naked.
I almost groaned aloud. “Okay. I’ll just go get Jackson. I don’t want him to be alone.”
“I’ll check the tank and get the kid. Towels are under the sink. Soap and shampoo in the shower. Just need to do something first.” He went back inside and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard a squeaking, then he came back out and jogged down the steps.
He was gone before I could say anything more.
I showered in record time. Mostly because being in Vic Gate’s shower was overwhelming, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his naked body up against mine. His hands gliding down my skin. His tree-trunk thighs pressed against me. Between me. On me.
By the time I jumped out of the shower, my body was a heated inferno ready to erupt.
I dried off, dressed, and opened the bathroom door into Vic’s bedroom. If you could call it a bedroom. Sure, there was a bed, but there were no personal items, no dresser, no pictures—not even a closet. Who didn’t have a closet in his bedroom?
His bag was on the floor beside the bed, still packed, with a black T-shirt spilling out of it as if he was ready to leave at any minute. His bed was made military style, with tight corners and not a single crinkle. I felt like going over and messing it up. Okay, I did pick up a pillow and smell it before tossing it carelessly back onto the bed.
I walked barefoot down the stairs and toward the kitchen, biting my lip and wondering if I should run back upstairs and straighten the pillow. Because he’d know that I’d touched it. He’d know that I was checking out his bed.
“What’s wrong with it?”
I stopped in the hallway leading into the kitchen when I heard Vic’s gruff bark.
“It has tomatoes.” Jackson never reacted to Vic’s abruptness. It was as if Vic’s superhero status negated any grumpiness.
“So?” Vic said.
“I don’t like them. They’re slimy and gross.”
I smiled. I’d asked Jackson to try everything at least once. If he didn’t like it, then he didn’t have to eat it. It was something my mom had always said. Tomatoes made the list of never ever eating again.
“Too bad. Eat it anyway.”
I rolled my eyes.
I was curious what Vic would do because there was no way Jackson would eat it anyway.
I peeked around the corner and saw them seated on blue plastic rain barrels. On my way upstairs to Vic’s shower, I’d noticed he had very little furniture. I guess it made sense, considering he was rarely here.
Vic had two sandwiches piled high on his plate, and Jackson had one. I couldn’t see the tomato, but it looked like there was kale and cucumber. Who made a kale, cucumber, and tomato sandwich for a six-year-old?
Vic picked up one of his sandwiches and took a huge bite. Jackson’s eyes widened as they travelled from Vic to his sandwich like it was some kind of monster.
I was about to walk out and tell Jackson I’d make him something else to eat at the cabin when he said, “Will I get big and strong like you?”
