He studied me for a moment before walking out of the kitchen turning toward the bathroom. I followed a few steps behind.
A startled yelp escaped me when I rounded the corner and caught sight of a naked backside. Without much thought, I tossed the soap and toothbrush in and slammed the door shut. “You could have waited until I put the stuff in there,” I complained through the door, my heart thundering loudly in my ears. I heard the water turn on, the clink of his dog tag hitting the sink and the shower curtain move.
Who would have thought he even knew how to use a shower? I hadn’t. On the way home, I’d starting thinking of all the different things I needed to explain, like making sure to position the curtain inside the tub. Standing outside the door still reeling from the view I’d gotten, I realized I might get it again if I didn’t get him a towel.
I’d packed two bath towels when I moved here. Both purchased from a discount store, they sported gaudy floral designs. I grabbed one and waited outside the door again until I heard him splashing in the shower. I knocked.
“I have a towel for you,” I said through the door. “If you’re still in the shower, I’ll just open the door to toss it on the toilet seat. Okay?” I didn’t hear anything. Not surprising. “Okay, I’m coming in.” I waited a moment for any indication that I shouldn’t enter. When the water continued to run, I cautiously opened the door and tossed the towel in as soon as I saw a clear path to the toilet seat.
Standing just inside the bathroom, holding the door handle for a quick exit, I offered, “My toothpaste is the one marked with the pink nail polish on the cap. I’ll let you use it as long as you promise not to squeeze the tube in the middle.” His answer took the form of an accurately aimed splash of water over the top of the shower curtain, which I barely dodged.
“You’re cleaning that up!”
I closed the door and went to the couch with my book to wait. I hoped he’d use the towel before turning back into a dog. He’d make a mess if he shook out in there. After a minute, I actually opened the book and started reading.
Several minutes later, the water turned off. Dividing my attention between listening and trying to associate an action to each sound I heard, I couldn’t concentrate on my reading. A moment of silence and then running water. It sounded like the sink. Brushing his teeth? Then silence again. It remained quiet until I heard the doorknob turn. Quickly, I held the book higher to block my view just in case he chose not to wear his fur. Or the towel. A chuffing bark, apparently his dog version of a laugh, had me lowering my comically high book.
He strolled over by me and hopped up on the couch. Incredibly, his fur looked even fluffier. “Don’t get too comfortable, I don’t know what Rachel’s rules are about pets on the furniture.” I curled my legs under me to give him more room.
Forgetting myself, I leaned over to smell him. “Much better.” I said straightening. At his intense look, I went back to reading my book, pretending I hadn’t just leaned over and smelled a man. We stayed like that, sitting side by side in companionable silence, until lunch when both our stomachs rumbled.
On the way to the kitchen, I noticed his wet towel on the bathroom floor. “Next time fold it over the edge of the tub,” I said. The bathroom lacked any other available space to hang a towel. I didn’t want his towel hung in my room either. That seemed a little too domestic.
I made us both dry ham sandwiches thanks to the gas station groceries. Dry because I’d refused to pay four dollars for a miniature jar of mayo. “I’m guessing your bowl of dog food will always be full,” I said as I set his plated sandwich on the floor. Sitting at the table, I started eating my own sandwich. He finished his in two bites.
“So, we have a week before my classes start up. What’s your plan?” He cocked his head at me. “Did you want to try to enroll in any classes? Study anything?” He lay down on the floor next to his empty plate eyeing it sadly. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” I washed our dishes and went back to reading. Eventually, he joined me on the couch.
Later that night, Rachel came home with a manly spike collar and a leash. She rushed into the house, tossing her keys and purse on the table. From my position on the couch, I watched her kneel down next to Clay, who stood near his bowl of water. I wasn’t sure, but I think she’d interrupted his contemplations about drinking from the bowl. The thought made me smile.
Trying to ignoring the pair, I focused on my book. Shuffling movement sounded from the kitchen along with a few quiet comments by Rachel. When the noises didn’t stop, I went to investigate.
“This is a joke,” she grumbled.