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He chuckles at my lifeless joke. “Hey. You still want to take that shower?”
“Yeah, eventually.” Especially since I still smell like sex.
“Come on. I could use one, too.” For once, there’s nothing sexual or flirtatious about him. He only extends a hand, wearing a faint smile. What I need more than anything right now while I feel this confused and conflicted is a friend. It seems like he wants to be that friend. Frankly, I’m not in the mood to fool around—I hope he’ll understand that without me having to come out and say it. I’m not up to it, and besides, it wouldn’t feel right if Nathan wasn’t here. He might’ve hurt me by leaving out some inconvenient truths, but I don’t want to hurt him. I feel like I would if I slept with Keaton.
“Just relax,” he tells me when we step into the shower stall together. “Would you let me wash your hair?”
My mouth falls open in surprise. “Um, sure. That would be nice.” I dip my head under the hot spray while he pours shampoo into his palm.
His touch is magic. Immediately, my stress starts to melt from my muscles and joints. “I hope I’m doing this right,” he murmurs as his fingertips massage my scalp.
“You’re doing pretty good so far.”
“Thanks. I always figured if I didn’t graduate from the academy, I could go to cosmetology school.”
I laugh before I can help it, and that feels good. I don’t have to be unhappy, resentful, or upset. “You would have made an extremely successful stylist.”
“You think so?”
“Are you kidding? Ladies would be lined up for miles to get a little time in your chair.”
“I’m still young. It’s not too late for me to have a career change.”
“I would need a monthly appointment set in stone. I’m not letting some other women reap all the benefits of these magic hands without getting some for myself.”
“My hands can work all kinds of magic.” I should have seen that coming. Still, he doesn’t follow it up with any little hints or double entendres. He only gently guides me back under the water and rinses the shampoo from my hair. I instruct him on how to wring the water out, and then on where to apply the conditioner. “You don’t want the roots to get all greasy.”
“You learn something new every day.”
“Tell me honestly. Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?”
He frowns a little while soaking up a loofah. “That’s a sudden question.”
“I’m only curious. You know about my stupid, waste of time relationship.”
“Was that the only one you ever had?” He guides the sponge over my shoulders and down my arms.
“I’m asking about you, remember?”
He chuckles, and it’s a nice sound. Warm and rich. “I haven’t been serious about anybody since high school, to be honest with you. She broke up with me because she was going out of state for college, and that was it. I figured, what’s the point.”
“That’s all it took?”
“Let me put it this way.” He’s gentle and efficient as he washes me. There’s no lingering, no playing around to turn me on. “The way I saw it, she couldn’t have been all that serious about me if being one state over meant the end of our relationship, you know? We were each other’s first everything, and as far as I was concerned, we were the real deal. Now,” he adds with a chuckle, “I get it. We were seventeen years old, and what the hell did we know? But you don’t get over something like that. Not for a long time. It’s sort of shaped my whole view of relationships.”
“Well, I’m sorry there aren’t more women who can say they know what it feels like to have their hair washed by you.”
“Oh, there’s been plenty of those.” But he’s laughing, and I have to laugh with him. It’s impossible not to.
And I’m not trying to ruin a good thing, either. This shower is very much a good thing. By the time it’s finished, and he has quickly washed himself—almost as an afterthought—I feel renewed. Nothing that was bothering me only twenty minutes ago seems half as important now. Everything’s going to work out. I actually believe that.
He doesn’t stop at washing me, either. I stand still outside the shower while he rubs me down with a thick, soft towel. I close my eyes and lean against him, letting him support me. It is the nicest feeling. Only now do I realize how long I’ve been supporting myself—and not only in the literal sense. With my grandparents gone, I haven’t had anybody to lean against when times are tough. The best I could rely on was a friend I barely trusted. Now, there’s a sense of letting go, knowing everything will handle itself.
“How are you feeling?” He takes me by the hand and leads me to my room, where he sits me on the foot of the bed and takes my hairbrush from the top of the dresser.
“Much better.” Now this, I would never have imagined. Sitting here while he brushes my hair, taking his time to work out any tangles before I can get hurt. It feels natural to talk about ourselves—what we like in music, movies, and TV, our favorite foods, and even our favorite subjects at school. I can forget I was ever upset about anything.
More than that. For the first time in a long time, I feel taken care of by someone who is not a blood relation. He didn’t treat it like a chore he had to do to keep me happy. He wanted to take care of me, and it just so happened I needed to be taken care of.
