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“That doesn’t make it hurt less now that it’s over.”
My throat burns and I have to blink rapidly. “No, it doesn’t make it hurt less.” I’ve lost him, either way. Even if I don’t want that relationship back, even if there’s a strange sort of relief now that I’m free of it, I’m still losing Max as a friend, too.
Shane eases me onto my back and looks down at me. I don’t know what he sees in my face. I’m not in control enough to shield myself from him, and even when I’m at the top of my game, he seems to see right through me. He smooths my hair back. “Go take a shower and get ready. We’re going out.”
I grab onto the distraction he offers with both hands. “Out? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” We might live outside of Chicago but each suburb is like its own little small town. The chances we have of running into someone we know is high. I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone to know how I responded to my relationship with Max falling apart. I’m not sure I ever will be.
Instead of answering, Shane gets out of bed and walks into the bathroom. A few seconds later, I hear the shower running. By the time I manage to make it in there, he’s finished with his shower and has a towel wrapped around his waist. Shane jerks his chin at the shower. “Take your time.” Then he disappears out the door.
There is something that feels so taboo about using his shower. Even though we’ve been naked together, have fucked in both the living room and his bedroom, it’s almost impossible to separate the Daddy from the father-in-law. Being naked in my father-in-law’s shower feels wrong. Like I’m being bad, being somewhere I shouldn’t be.
I relish the feeling as I shower. Is that the only reason I enjoy being with Shane so much? Because I shouldn’t be?
My situation would be so much simpler if that were the case.
By the time I finish, he reappears with a small polka dot bag I instantly recognize. Max and I only spent significant time here in the summers because of the pool, but that was enough for me to leave a small stash of my stuff in Max’s old room for when I needed it. I take the bag from Shane with shaking hands. It’s another reminder of where I was versus where I am now. “Thanks.”
“Clothes are on the bed.” He turns and walks away.
I blink. I didn’t exactly expect him to ravish me the second I got out of the shower, but there’s no denying a certain disappointment that he’s not letting me play out my towel-dropping fantasy. It’s an effort not to march after him and force his hand, but curiosity gets the better of me. Where does he want us to go? Surely it’s not just a simple errand, not when we’re engaging in this weekend of sheer perversity. At least, I hope not.
I take my time getting ready, just like I took my time in the shower. Part of it is perversity—wondering how long his patience will hold—and the other part is that I genuinely want to look good for him. I blow out my long blond hair and give it a toss to maximize its natural waves, and I put on a full face of makeup. It’s my summer stuff, so a bronzy natural look with pretty pink lips. I smile at myself in the mirror. He said he wants to fuck my mouth later. Red would be better, but pink will do.
Once I’m ready, I head out into the bedroom and stop short. I was so distracted, I hadn’t really thought about what clothes he would have for me, but Shane’s laid out one of my summer outfits. It’s a tiny blue and white striped skirt with a flirty flounce, white lace panties, and a white crop top.
I’m going to freeze to death.
I glare at the closed bedroom door and finally pull on the clothes. Another check in the mirror has me pressing my lips together. This outfit is one I wear over swimsuits to make them barely public appropriate. It’s not meant for anything other than that. The skirt is so short that it brushes the lower curve of my ass and the crop top is an oversized boxy fit that leaves my entire stomach bare and will expose half my breasts if I lift my arms over my head. I do it anyway and relish the heat that bolts through me at the sight of my nipples peeking out.
I find Shane in the kitchen eating pancakes. He barely looks at me as he slides a second plate across the counter and sets a coffee next to it—heavy in cream and sugar, just like I prefer. “Eat.”
