Page 34 of Off Plan
Nothing seemed out of place. The room was ruthlessly clean and citrus fresh. The king-sized bed was covered with a tidy, and apparentlynew, white coverlet. A distinctive pair of brown loafers were lined up beside the bed. The world’s saddest air conditioner chugged out an anemic stream of barely cool air. And from the closed bathroom came the sound of rushing water on tile along with a painedgroan.
Shit.
Loafers was in the shower. And for all I knew, the cries I’d heard were notunhappycries.
Thank God he hadn’t seen me.
I pivoted to retreat, tiptoeing as much as a person could while wearing sandals, but just before I cleared the doorway, a tidal wave of water poured from under the bathroom door, soaking the threadbare carpet. Loafers gave another gurgling yell.
I stood for a second, undecided. I mean, what were the chances he wasgetting offon nearly drowning, versus the chances that he wasactuallydrowning?
Loafers, who’d seemed shocked at the idea of rope play, wasprobablynot into some kind of water-based autoerotic asphyxiation.
“Fuck it,” I muttered. I pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into a fucking lake.
“Mo-ther-fuck-ing-fuck!” Loafers yelled, fortunately not at me but at the fire-hydrant-strength stream of watergushingout of a hole in the middle of the shower wall where the handle used to be.
Loafers was buck naked on his knees in the center of the tub, with his eyes screwed shut and his hands out in front of him, holding the broken shower handle like he was attempting to play a high-stakes game of pin the tail on the donkeywith the plumbing. The drab gray shower curtain was halfway open like he’d debated escaping the shower before deciding to stand and fight. His hair was plastered to his head, and water sluiced down his surprisingly fit body in a way that was very, very…
Not the point, Reardon.
“Loafers!” I yelled. “Get out of there!”
He opened his eyes, and his head swung in my direction… and the stream of water smacked him in the side of the face, knocking him over. He floundered and it sounded like he hit his head against the bottom of the tub.Shit.
I waded through the puddled water, and nearly slipped and fell myself, until I ditched my flip-flops and surfed over to him.
“Loafers? Mason!” He was curled on his side, in the fetal position, covering his face. His fingers were still clenched around the stupid shower handle, and it sounded like he was saying, “It came off in my hands! It just… came off!” which meant he wasn’t dead or dying… probably.
So I waded back out into the bedroom, ran to the empty closet, threw open the access panel in the lower back corner, and turned the shut-off valve until the sound of rushing water faded to a steady, hollowdrip-drip-drip.
I heaved a shaky breath, then let it out.
“Mason?”
No response.
“Mason?” I stood and picked my way across the squelching carpet back to the bathroom. “Are you okay?”
The only reply was a wet, snuffling noise, and from the bathroom doorway I could see his shoulders shaking, like he was crying. Or maybe in shock. What did shock look like?
Damn it.What was the good of having a doctor around whenhewas the one hurt?
“Is it your head?” I demanded, rushing toward the tub with zero regard for the stupid flip-flops I’d abandoned earlier. I tripped and caught air, grabbing at the first thing I could find to break my fall, which happened to be the ancient shower curtain.
I landed directly on top of Mason in the tub, with the curtain tangled around my waist and one arm, while his shoulder lodged firmly into my opposite armpit. A second later, the curtain rod landed on my head.
“Ow. Piece ofshit!”
I reached up and pushed the rod onto the floor, then balanced my weight on my one free hand, so I wasn’tentirelysuffocating the man beneath me, though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to extricate myself without assistance.
“Mason! Are you okay?”
He was still covering his face with his hands, clutching the stupid shower handle to his forehead, so I wriggled my trapped arm out of its plastic prison, grabbed the handle, and threw it on the floor next to the curtain rod where it landed with a splash.
Mason’s shoulders shook harder than ever, and he made a sound like he was suppressing a sob.
My stomach twisted. I sucked at thiscomfortingshit.
