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“It’s fine.” I stood. “It’ll wash off. How long did it say I had to wait?”
“You don’t have to. You’ve surpassed the time suggested.”
“I have?”
Theo shrugged, offhand, but I detected the strategy behind his expression.
“I’ve been done putting this glop on your hair for a while,” he said.
“You wanted to keep me talking.” I said, softer, “Keep me distracted.”
Again, a one-shouldered shrug. “I sort of just … pulled. On your hair. Pretending application.”
“Thank you.”
He looked me dead in the eye. “You’re welcome.”
“So I’ll head in then.” I indicated behind him, where he was blocking the entrance to the shower. At some point, he’d turned it off, maybe as soon as he came in and saw my crumpled form. I’d only just noticed it, which gave me pause. Normally I was much more observant.
“Let me come in with you,” he said.
I faltered, my hand pausing in midair.
“I’ll help you wash it off.”
“That’s not necessary.” I stepped forward, but his touch stopped me from moving farther.
“No,” he allowed, “it’s crucial.”
Now would’ve been a good time to gulp. But I wasn’t a fan of facial tells, audible or visual. “I thought I told you in the car that it wasn’t going to happen again.”
“I want you naked.”
Crap.I didn’t contain the catch in my throat. Theo used the moment of weakness to hook my towel and peel it off, his fingers trailing across the exposed skin of my chest slowly, delicately.
So enthralled with the moment, my body priming for him—nipples hardening, blood rushing, clitoris dancing, that my brain stayed five seconds behind. Turned out, those seconds would become crucial, because in peeling off the towel, all steam dissipated, bathroom lights bright, he could see everything.
All of me.
“Christ,” he whispered, and there, right then, is where my brain caught up.
He delicately brushed against my scar.
“Oh, I—no.” I bent down to retrieve the towel, fumbled in wrapping it back around.
“I knew it would be bad,” he muttered, still focused on the spot even though thick cotton now covered it.
“It’s not, really.” As usual, I tried to brush it off. The recovery, the phantom pains, the random tightness from skin so stretched thin it would forever be a dark reddish mar against my pale beige coloring. “As you can see, I’m fine—”
“Don’t.”
I faltered at the look on his face, my fingers still clutching the towel as some sort of protective barrier.
“Don’t play it off, pretend like it’s all right. I did that to you.” He pointed at my torso. “Right there. That’s me.”
“It’s not,” I said quietly. “It was your brother, not you.”
“And I’m about to ask you to walk right back in on him.” He spun, his fingers clumping into his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me.”
