He returned with a few pieces of neatly folded clothing and a towel. I expected him to be in a new change of clothes but he was still in his drenched sweats.
T&M offered me the clothes. “Sorry, but this is all I have. I don’t exactly keep women’s clothes around.” He pointed past the couch. “Bathroom’s around the corner.”
“What about you?” I asked, eyeing his hair and clothes dripping on the carpet.
“I’ll be fine for a bit longer, go on . . .”
“Are you sure? You can go first. It’s your place after all.”
The edges of his lips curved upward. It was the first time I’d seen him smile and the look of him with wet hair and a boyish grin sent tingles down my back. “I appreciate the concern but I’ll be fine. Go on, warm up. I’m gonna change out of these clothes while you’re in there.”
“Okay.” I gratefully took the items he gave me and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The inside matched the neat efficiency of the rest of the apartment and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Setting the clothes on the counter, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Wow, I look like a mess.
There were bits of algae and ice caught in my hair. I was suddenly feeling self-conscious about my appearance, when I normally wouldn’t be. The inappropriateness of the concern given the circumstances kind of pissed me off. I’d almost died and here I was fretting about how I must’ve looked to T&M. What’s gotten into me?
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned on the shower, and steam slowly filled the room. I removed my boots and socks then peeled off my wet clothes that had been clinging to me like a heavy blanket. I placed the items on top of the toilet but when I tried to step into the shower, I accidentally knocked a wet sock into the nearby trash bin. Grumbling in annoyance, I reached into the trash and fished the polka-dotted sock out along with a wad of tissues clinging to it. When I took a closer look, I noticed a used condom crumpled up among the tissues.
Ew.
Scrunching my face, I gingerly pinched off the undesirables and dropped them back into their home in the waste bin. I spotted at least two more condoms poking out from the pile of tissues. Apparently this guy either had a lot of sex or he didn’t take out his trash often. The unusual neatness of his apartment suggested it wasn’t the latter.
Figures, a hot guy like him would be getting a lot of action.
I stepped into the shower and let the heat of the water wash away the pinpricks beneath my skin. T&M—or Tim as I decided to refer to him for simplicity—clearly lived a spartan lifestyle. One bottle of shampoo and one bottle of body wash stood next to each other in the shower cubby. They almost looked lonely. I considered using the loofah that hung over the showerhead, but when I imagined him lathering up the creases of his abs and his junk in the front with it, I decided against it.
Just warm up and dry off Lorrie, no distractions. Just as if it’s a quick rinse before sex . . .
I sighed. What a great return to campus. It was just supposed to be uneventful semester; one that was going to help me return to a normal life. One without people dying. But before it even began, I almost died myself. Now I was showering in some strange guy’s apartment who probably thought I was depressed and suicidal.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t too far from the truth. Being depressed was a shitty place to be and telling others about it only fed the condition, making it worse. It was like rolling an impossibly large stone up a hill and if you asked for help, the extra hands got in the way more than they helped, pushing the stone in all sorts of directions until you realize that you’d have been better off pushing it alone. But you know you can’t do it by yourself. The only solution then was to not roll it at all. Just walk away, pretend it wasn’t there, that there was no point to moving it to the top of the hill in the first place. And that left you feeling numb—which wasn’t great but at least it wasn’t bad. Feeling numb was at least better than feeling depressed.
I turned the water off, stepped out of the shower, and dried myself with the towel he’d given me. I took a closer look at the clothes: there was a large black US Air Force t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I put them on and laughed when I examined myself in the mirror—the clothes were huge, making me look comically small in them. I had to hold the jeans up with my hand otherwise they’d fall down. At least the bagginess of the shirt would help hide the fact that I was no longer wearing a bra.
After ensuring I looked presentable—at least as presentable as possible in baggy clothes and without makeup—I gathered my wet clothes in my arms and opened the bathroom door, preparing to thank Tim for his hospitality. When I stepped into the living room, my jaw dropped at the sight of him naked.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I quickly turned away but not before the sight of him was seared into my memory. Images of carved muscles and exotic tattoos danced across my mind.
“Wow, that was quick. I thought you’d be in there longer.” I heard him laugh and the subsequent thud of his drenched sweats being thrown into a corner hamper. “You can turn around. I’m not naked, ya know. Unless you consider being shirtless as naked.”
I turned around and noticed he had a white towel around his waist. His torso was still fully bare though. Tattoos ran along the side of his chest and extended down his arm. They were mostly a mix of tribal designs but one tattoo stood out for me. A picture of a large hammer was boldly etched on his upper arm. An unwelcome desire flittered in my stomach as I imagined running my fingertips over the inked lines.
I wasn’t opposed to seeing him shirtless at all. Not. At. All.
I forced myself to make eye contact with him, but was surprised to find him not doing the same. His eyes were wide, and they were roaming down and up my freshly showered body.
When his eyes finally met mine, his lips curved wickedly. “You clean up well.”
My cheeks flushed. “Thanks,” I replied, slightly uncomfortable. “I feel a lot better without all that lake gunk on me. I really appreciate the clothes, although they might be a little big for me.” I gestured to the jeans that were threatening to fall down my hips.
He looked me over again, dark eyes subtly lingering at certain parts: thighs, chest, lips. “No, you look good—real good.” His hand gestured to the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some warm tea and a belt. I can get you back to your place after I wash up.”
He grabbed my wet clothes from me and set them down on the kitchen counter while I took a seat on his couch. I thought it’d be a relief to sit down and relax but I found myself tense and restless, wondering who this guy was and what I’d gotten myself into by agreeing to come to his place.
He went into the kitchen and brought me a cup of tea. It smelled fragrant and spicy and the hot mug felt good in my hands, calming my nerves temporarily. I sipped slowly, enjoying the fluid warming up my chest as he went into his bedroom to search for a belt. Moments later, he returned.
“Thank you so much,” I said as he handed me the belt and sat down on the edge of the coffee table inches away from me.
He, in his shirtless glory, carefully watched me bring the cup of tea to my lips. I brought the edge to my mouth but didn’t drink, too distracted by the desire to touch my lips against the soft skin of those hard pecs right in front of me. I flicked my gaze to his to avoid staring at his chest. The concerned way he studied me with those dark irises matching the color of his damp hair was making me squirm in my seat. Not to mention the peripheral view of that towel around his waist was approaching scandalous. He didn’t cross his legs like I would if I were wearing a skirt and I fought the urge to snag a glance down at that distinctly male area. But it was hard to resist. Was this what it was like to be on the other end of someone trying to cop a peek up your skirt?