Page 50 of Only Ever You

If my dreams consist of a duvet hogger and world’s loudest snorer, then sure.

Neither of which were true, but Ellie didn’t know that.

Ellie

And you know this how? ??

She’d walked right into that one.

Faye

Via entirely platonic and innocent reasons.

The bathroom door clicked, and emerging from the light like some kind of eighties music video star – only without the smoke and disco lights – was Bash. Damp haired with wet spots blotting on his white t-shirt. Tiredness weighed on his face but still he looked good.Fuckablegood. It was unfair.

How was she supposed to ignore him when he walked around like that? Hard in the right places, soft in others. His perfectly blue eyes gleaming because they sure as eggs knew how nice they were.

“Ready for bed?” he asked as he stood there not ten feet away, looking at her like the old, oversized t-shirt she’d thrown onwasn’tthe ugliest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

More than you know.

A ball of warmth cascaded its way down through Faye’s stomach at the sight of his shorts slung around his hips and a particularly lengthy outline that the thin grey material traced – the peek of taut skin around his navel as he shook his hand through his hair, making the loosening curls bounce and tussle.

She needed to get out of here.

Out of this bed.

Out of her body.

Out of her mind – though she was already halfway there.

16

BASH

The doorto the bathroom wasn’t entirely shut and Bash was a self-sabotaging idiot for looking. Faye’s reflection moved in the mirror over the sink unit; fully clothed in long pyjamas and a retro t-shirt, so it wasn’t as though his innocuous glances held any salacious intent as she cleansed her skin with copious amounts of a liquid pumped from a bottle, then washed off the foamy suds.

Faye’sself carewas Bash’sself torture.

Shefascinated him. Rarely did he get to see her in her wind-down mode after a long day. Watching her absent-minded nightly motions was soothing, which was completely normal, right?

He’d never had a skincare routine until Faye caught him washing his face with hand soap. Now he was fully loaded: cleanser, toner, some serum that’s supposed to keep his skin looking bright (whatever that meant), and moisturiser (two different kinds for day and night, obviously).

As much as his male ego took a knock to admit it, the woman was right, and Bash had made it a side quest in life to own the fact that he took care of his skin whenever any of his caveman-minded male acquaintances brought it up.

He’d never wanted to be a towel before, but he was suddenly envious as Faye dabbed her face dry. She squirted something white from a tube and lathered it over her face and neck. And now he needed to look away …

Mon Dieu.?*He shouldn't watch this. His mind went to too many places, fingertips wishing it washimwho got to stroke Faye’s cheeks like that.

The strange domesticity of this arrangement he’d volunteered them for had evidently made Bash forget his senses, because an entirely differentself carethreatened to cross his mind, tempered down by the fact that if he touched Faye’s face now, she would probably bite his hand off.

Distraction.He needed one. And desperately.

Leaning off the edge of the bed, Bash fished his current book from his bag – a mid-noughties literary piece he’d found in a “Ten Books to Read Before you Die” article online – and shifted the duvet around his waist so it wouldn't catch on any of the pages.

He’d gotten through four when Faye slid into bed, her pyjamas softly brushing against the sheets. That reality, and the wave of her clean scent invading his space, made him miss the paragraph he was reading.

Bash couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in the same bed as a woman who wasn’t Faye. He may let her believe he went through reams of girlfriends like he did sketch paper at work, but he wasn’t the type to stay the night. Nor did he use them and lose them. Whoever he entered a bedroom with knew his terms: it wouldn’t go beyond some no-strings fun, and he wouldn’t be catching feelings.

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