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Sabrina
Oh. My. God. I’m in Aiden Murphy’s shower.
It’s freaking huge, and there’s a bench.
A big bench I may have pictured him sitting on...while I’m on my knees in front of him.
What the hell is wrong with me? Okay...I’ve got to pull it together.
I apologized. I can’t really tell if he accepted that apology, but it’s a start.
As the warm water flows over my hair, I’m reminded of what it’s like to not shower in something the size of a coffin. God, this shower is heavenly. It reminds me of my bathroom at home. Glass-enclosed and tiled in dark and light grey glass subway tiles. The big bench is taking up an entire side. Murphy wasn’t kidding about the showerheads. There’s a rain shower head, a regular shower head, and four body sprays. As I look around, I’m impressed these guys have shampoo and conditioner in here, even if they smell like seaweed.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I luxuriate under the sprays for a few extra minutes to buy myself time to figure out precisely what I’m going to say when I go downstairs, but nothing comes to me. It’s ironic that I wrote more of my father’s speeches this past summer than his actual speechwriter, but I can’t figure out what I need to say when it’s time to speak for myself.
Grabbing the fluffy white towel off the hanger next to the shower, I dry off and wrap it around my hair. When I step out, I’m not looking forward to putting my sweaty running gear back on and am pleasantly surprised when I’m met with a small pile of folded clothes on the counter next to one of the sinks.
Aww. He brought me clothes.
I’m not sure how to reconcile Thoughtful Murphy with the guy I’ve watched for years. He’s always been a nice guy, but I don’t think thoughtful or sweet are words I’d have ever considered using to describe him.
Loud. Funny. So fucking sexy. These are the words that come to mind.
I open the medicine cabinet and help myself to a little men’s deodorant because something is better than nothing. I pull up the boxer briefs, roll the waist over a few times to make them fit and slip on the t-shirt that hits me mid-thigh.
The shirt is super soft and smells clean and fresh like Murphy.
Wonder if he knows there’s no chance he’s getting this back?
I try my best to dry my hair with the towel before finger combing it through. I then allow myself a quick peek in the mirror.
Not too bad.
Here goes nothing.
When I walk back into Murphy’s bedroom, I can’t help but take a look around. The scent of Hugo Boss cologne lingers in the air, and my toes sink into a soft, thick cream-colored rug. The cherrywood king-sized bed sits in the center of the room, covered in a hunter green comforter. A pair of matching nightstands sit on either side with small silver lamps covered in green and gold striped shades. I walk over to a tall dresser and see a watch, some money and...are those glasses thrown on top?
Hmm. I’ve got to ask him about them. I can’t ever remember seeing Murphy in glasses.
His desk is a mess with notebooks thrown haphazardly on top and both a tablet and laptop next to them. Above the desk is a set of black shelves. On the shelf are picture frames. One frame contains a picture of Murph and the guys last year after they won state. That frame doesn’t have any glass in it. There’s another frame with his sister and mother on either side of him after graduation. A signed Philadelphia Kings football sits on the top shelf next to a wooden box.
“Princess.”
I jump. My hand going to my chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you scared the heck out of me.”
“You gonna stop snooping and come eat?” He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s casual as can be with no clue of the heart attack he just gave me.
Trying to gather my composure, I take a step back. “Give a girl some warning next time.”
He walks in, shutting the door behind him. “Were you, or were you not, snooping?”
“Okay, fine. I was checking out your room. I didn’t know you wear glasses.” I pick them up only for him to take them out of my hands.
“That’s because I’ve had contacts since I was fourteen. I have my glasses in case I need them, but I prefer my contacts. Plus, glasses and football don’t exactly mix.”
“Can I see you in them? Please.”
