Page 71 of The Other Guy

“I think it’s time for a shower.” He pulls me behind him into his bathroom and turns on the water, testing it before tugging me in with him.

Another first for me.

I’ve never showered with someone else and it has me a little nervous but at the same time, it’s Jack. It’s easy to relax with him.

He stands in front of me, letting the warm water beat down on my back so I don’t get cold. There’s no words spoken, our hands and eyes speaking for us. Neither of us can stop touching each other. It’s easy with him. I don’t feel awkward or self-conscious. He seems to love what he sees and feels.

He uses a body puff to wash my skin and it’s so intimate I feel the sting of tears prick the back of my eyes and if he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. He finishes up before washing himself. I have a better idea, though, and take the puff from him, taking over for him.

“Want me to wash your hair?”

Yes. Oh my gosh, yes. But… “I would love that. Another time, though. I just washed my hair this morning,” I remind him.

“Was that just this morning?” he asks, eyes wide.

I know what he means. It seems as though we’ve been through a week in just one day. Not that I’m complaining. And I don’t think he is, either.

I giggle and wrap my arms around his waist. Our bodies are slick and wet and I feel him grow against me. He growls, bending low to kiss my neck and I want to climb him like a freaking tree.

“We’d better get out of here before we get carried away again.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He groans. “You’re gonna kill me. But we have time and we need to get you some food.”

“I am a little hungry,” I admit.

“Good. I’ll make some chicken soup.”

“Mmm. Sounds delicious.”

We dry off and get dressed, me in my leggings from earlier and one of his hoodies and him with a different pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

When he said he’d make some chicken soup, I stupidly assumed he meant from a can. But I forgot that Jack is a trained chef and I get the pleasure of watching him do what he was so clearly born to do.

I offer to help but he insists I sit and enjoy myself, pouring me another glass of 7-Up and hands me a few crackers to munch on.

This is something I could get used to, and I can’t decide if that scares or excites me more.

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