Page 58 of Hero Hair
Chapter Seventeen
Teala
His shower products are nicer than mine. He spends a fortune on personal grooming, a fact that surprised me the first time I showered here. We’re drying off in his bathroom, grinning at each other. He has a goofy look on his face, and I’m not sure what that means. His hair is tousled and wet and his thick eyelashes are clumped together with water. His body is insane. Not that I haven’t seen it in all its glory and know exactly what it’s capable of, but with a towel slung low on his hips and his gaze fixated on me, I’m noticing things I haven’t before. Maybe he hasn’t worn that smile before. Maybe he wasn’t lying when he told me nothing would change after we had sex. I didn’t believe him. How could I?
I drop my towel and sort through my bag for the black pair of thongs I threw in there for this exact situation. I slide them on, and he watches my every move with a feral gleam in his eye. The wide, dimpled smile is still in place.
“What? Spit it out. What’s on your mind?” I ask. Even half naked I’m going to command authority.
He shakes his head, laughing now. “Nothing. I was just thinking we can call showering together done,” he says, facing me. He turns toward the mirror and slides a comb through his hair. “Check that zoo life experience off the list,” he mutters quietly.
I cock my head. “What do you mean by zoo life?”
He presses his lips into a firm line to stifle his laughter. I urge him on with a blazing look, my arms crossed underneath my breasts.
“You peed in front of me. In the shower. It kind of creeped me out,” he says, chancing a side eye glance in the mirror.
I sigh. “You peed in front of me first, Macs. Don’t be so weird.”
He slams an open palm down on the warm colored granite, again, the smile working its way across his face. He doesn’t meet my eyes when he responds. “My pee is a perfect straight stream.”
“And mine is what?” My face heats.
Now he has the good sense to turn his dimples down the counter. “Something out ofNational Geographic,” he whispers. “Like a zebra or a reindeer. When they pee at the zoo, you know? It looks all wild and wide and sloppy. No aim whatsoever. Like a dam being unclogged or a pipe bursting.”
I throw a hand over my mouth. I’m too amused and shocked to take offense. “How long were you thinking about that?”
He does this often. Has the perfect formulated response to stupid things most people don’t even register. Most times he keeps them to himself. He probably would have kept this whole comparison locked away in his twisted brain had I not asked for an explanation. He continues smiling.
“How long?” I ask again.
“Since the moment you opened stream in my presence,” he admits.
I shake my head, keeping my gaze locked on his guilty looking face. He peeks up at me through his envy worthy lashes, eyes slanted with happiness. He gives me a look that says. “Hey, you wanted to know.”
I nod, wiping the amusement from my face. “I suppose you wish I had a dick then? I’d be able to pee in a nice straight line. We could sword fight next time.”
Macs is holding his stomach, bent over, roaring with laughter.
“Better yet, we could pee at the same time and make it a game. Who can pee the farthest with the most accuracy?”
With happy tears streaming down his face he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his warm, bare chest. “No. No. I like your zoo display. I do. I’ve never seen something so…wild before. That’s all.”
I’ll admit. I was peeing before I even realized what I was doing because it’s a habit.
I keep my arms pinned by my sides, still refusing to reciprocate his hug, but it gets harder and harder as every second passes. His skin is so hot and tinged with the musky scented bodywash it makes my mouth water. My cheek is pressed against his hard chest muscle, right on top of his solitary tattoo. It’s a dark blue inked portrait of a skeleton frog. It spans an entire pectoral muscle. He told me most SEALs have the tattoo, and it means a lot to him. I bring up one hand to trace the outline with my finger.
“You hurt my feelings,” I say, smiling because he can’t see it. Inside I’m wildly happy to see how happy he is right now. It’s a carefree nature I’ve never seen before. “Are you this nice every time you have sex?”
His body stiffens under my fingertips. I feel his chin come down to rest on the top of my head. “No,” he says, grudgingly.
“Was that a hard question or something?” I ask, confused.
He shakes his head on top of mine and clears his throat. “A simple question. A hard answer,” he replies.
I try to pull away to glimpse his face. My heart is thumping at a rapid pace. I try to bury the excitement at his confession because I’m not sure exactly what it means. “Explain,” I reply, knowing I could avoid this messy conversation by simply moving my hand lower and releasing the white, damp towel around his waist. I could make him forget everything in a matter of seconds. I could use all my skills, everything I’ve learned about pleasing a man, and he would be as good as putty in my hands, but selfishly, I want him to tell me what’s going through his mind right now.
“How was sex for you?” he asks.
