Bad Boy Blues(19)

I stand frozen in the middle of his room as I lose my ability to think.

What the fuck do I do now?

Suddenly, my legs move. But instead of taking me to the door, they take me into his bathroom and before I can even comprehend what’s happening, I hop into the bathtub off to the side, and I pull the shower curtain shut.

It’s one of those opaque ones that completely hides you and thank God for that. Then, I plaster myself against the wall and press my free hand over my mouth. In the other hand, I have the double pack of Marlboros that I stole.

I hear bare footsteps and a couple more grunts. To my horror, those sounds are walking closer.

Oh God.

He’s coming toward the bathroom.

Toward me.

Why the fuck did I think it would be a good idea to hide inside his bathtub? I wasn’t doing anything illegal – well, if you don’t count stealing his cancer sticks and going through his stuff. I could’ve easily gone away through the door.

Now, everything is way, way worse than it needed to be.

Apparently, not worse enough because there comes a hiss. A distinct sound of something – a thick stream – hitting the ceramic, followed by a sigh.

I take it back. This is the worst sound in the world. Zach, peeing.

Why? Why is this happening to me?

Hysterically I think, if he’s sleepy and his aim isn’t on point and if he gets something out of the bowl, I’m not cleaning it up.

No.

Nuh-huh. I’ll quit my job before I… do that.

An eternity later, I hear the flush of the toilet and the rush of the tap opening. Oh, thank God. He’s done.

What are the chances that he’ll go away now? And go back to sleep like before, no less?

Zero.

Zero chance of that happening because a microsecond later, the curtain rips open and I come face to face with the guy I’ve been trying to avoid ever since I was ten.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he thunders – I don’t know how he manages that since he just woke up but still, the sound echoes in my chest.

His arm is stretched out wide, strangling the curtain with his grip, and for a few moments, all I can do is stare at his face.

It’s clenched tight, every little line, every taut muscle on display. He’s anger personified with his ticking jaw and gritted teeth.

I’m supposed to answer him; I know that.

But my tongue is swollen.

I stare at the five o’clock shadow on his square, killer jaw. Dark, enticing skin. Spiky, messy hair. Black eyes dripping with rage.

And veins.

God, he has so many veins, running just under his skin. One of them goes down his taut neck. It bumps over his collarbone and then disappears beneath his muscled pecs.

His chest is massive and the curves of it make a tight valley that then changes into the ridges of his abdomen. I go to count those ridges; I’m pretty sure that he’s got a six-pack. Could be eight too.

But I get sidetracked by the fact that he’s not wearing anything.

He’s naked.

Naked.

“Oh my God!” I squeak, clenching my eyes shut.

“How did you get in here?”

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” I chant, trying to dissolve into the tiles my spine is stuck to. “You’re naked. I thought you’d at least have your pants on.”

“What the fuck. Are you doing?” he growls, this time slowly.

“Why were you sleeping naked?” I snap. “Who sleeps naked?”

“People who wanna rub one out whenever the mood strikes.”

My breathing ceases at his drawled reply.

Rub one out.

He means… rubbing his thing out. Right? Masturbation.

The thing that’s on full display right now. A few feet away from me. Within touching distance. Is this the punishment for making up that lie about him?

No. No. No.

“Open your goddamn eyes,” Zach seethes, breaking my internal chant.

I grit my teeth. “Put on some goddamn pants.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck you’re doing, hiding in my bathtub.”

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe I’m trapped inside a bathtub, with a naked Zach glaring at me.

But I need to woman up. I need to open my eyes, get this over with and leave. From now on, I’m not volunteering to take up anyone’s duties. At least, not without knowing what they entail.

Slowly, I open my eyes and make sure to keep them only on his face. “I wasn’t hiding.”

He shoots me a long stare. “If you’re in there to take a shower, then I hate to break it to you, but that’s not how you do it.”

“What?”

He gestures to my clothes, looking up and down my body. “You’re supposed to take them off. And not only because it makes rubbing one out easier.”

“What?”

This time my what is higher in cadence. I shrink into the wall some more. Although I don’t think I’m going anywhere.

Zach puts his other arm out and splays it wide on the wall. Leaning toward me, he says in a raspy tone, “Rubbing one out. Haven’t you ever done that in a shower?”

“Of course I have.”

Oh man.

Wrong thing to say. So completely, utterly wrong.

The tightness of his face melts away and his eyes shine with mirth. Before he can comment over my slipped-out careless reply, I almost shout, “Don’t. Don’t say a word. I don’t want to hear it, okay?”