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“Why aren’t you at High Card? If you were still gone when I got done, I was going to surprise you and show up.”
I smile. “That would have been nice. Honestly? I just didn’t like being there without you. It didn’t have the same shine as it usually does.”
She chuckles. “That’s unexpected. I’m sorry you’re feeling that way. I’ll be happy to accompany you again soon.”
“You’re a good person, Zara. You know that?”
She shakes her head. “It’s hard to see that sometimes. But thanks. How was your chat with June? You seemed to make a good impression.”
“I decided not to tell her any mafia stories,” I tease.
“Good choice,” she says dryly. “Seriously, what made you go talk to her?”
I shake my head. “Compulsion? I’m not sure. Just wanted to chat with someone who seems to know you well. What’s her story?”
“Hers to tell,” Zara says.
I nod. “She married?”
She sits back and stares at me. “Why? You interested?”
I throw my head back, laughing. “Not in the least. Just curious. She cares so much for her brother. I wonder if she takes much time for herself or has a family of her own.”
Zara shakes her head. “No. She had a fiancé when Joe came home injured, but they broke it off. I’m not sure who did the leaving. I wasn’t there for that.”
“They think of you as family, you know?”
She smiles. “Yeah. It’s hard not to look at them that way either. I really do admire them.”
Finally, she stands. “I’ve had a really long day. Do you mind if I shower?”
I stand with her and pull her close for a kiss. “Let me help?”
She chuckles but doesn’t say no, so I follow her to her bathroom and help her out of her clothes. I intended to push her against the wall and make her come, but there is an exhaustion in her eyes that has me wanting to pamper her. So instead, I wrap my arms around her from behind as we both stand beneath the hot spray.
When her hair is wet, I reach for the shampoo and pour some into my hand and gently wash her long, dark hair.
“That feels good,” she says with a groan as I massage her scalp.
“How often do you let someone else take care of you?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Never. I take care of myself.”
I pull her backwards under the water and rinse the lather from her hair before I pick up a rag and pour a generous helping of shower gel onto it and rub it together then set to work washing her down.
“This is nice, though,” she admits after a long minute of silence.
“Good. I enjoy doing it for you.”
She tries to turn around and reciprocate, but I don’t let her. Instead, I nudge her toward the bench along the back of the shower.
“Stay put. I’ll just be a minute.”
“I like to watch,” she says with a shrug and a lopsided grin.
“Yeah?”
She nods and bites her lip. “Yeah.”
