“It’s okay.” I dismiss his concern with a wave of my hand.
He rifles through a dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt and holds it up. It’s navy with a faded logo on the front.
“This should work,” he says, handing it to me. “I have some old basketball shorts in here somewhere that are too small,” he muses, moving to another drawer. “I meant to throw them away and never bothered. A-ha,” he exclaims and holds them up proudly. “Here they are.”
“Thanks.” I take those from him too.
“Wait here,” he says. “I have some extra soap in my bathroom. You’ll either smell like a man or a toddler, though …” he trails off.
I laugh and clutch the clothes against my chest. “That’s okay.”
I watch as he goes into the attached bathroom and rifles through the bottom cabinet. He comes back with body wash and shampoo. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wash your hair,” he says, clearing his throat.
I hold my arms out so he can pile the bottles on top of the clothes. “I probably should. Who knows what’s in that river water.”
“Shower’s down the hall,” he says. “I’ll show you.”
“That’s okay.” I edge toward the door. “I saw it on the way up.”
“Oh, okay.” He stands there nervously. We’re both on edge, not knowing what the right thing to do or say is. Maybe if we were both normal—not tainted by losing ones we love—we wouldn’t feel that way. Maybe things wouldn’t feel so … foreign.
I can feel him watching me as I go down the hall. I look back before I close the bathroom door and my gaze seems to break him from whatever trance he’s in. I smile at him and he smiles back, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The door clicks shut and I lock it. I lean my head against the cool wood and breathe in and out. Ryder does strange things to me. His presence shakes me up until I can’t think straight. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though.
I turn around and set everything on the counter. I turn the shower on, waiting for steam to fill the room before I undress.
Beneath the spray of the water, I close my eyes as I scrub my body—pretending it’s Ryder’s hands on my body and not my own. My breaths pick up speed, coming out in short, sharp pants. I pretend to feel his lips on my neck, ghosting over my collarbone, sucking on my breasts. My legs grow weak from my fantasy and my body shakes. I picture his hands sliding down my sides, pulling me against his slick hard body. He kisses me long and deep, drawing a moan from my throat. His fingers dig into my thighs as he lifts me up and presses my back to the tiled wall. My fingers clasp around his neck as I lower onto his cock—
My eyes shoot open.
What the hell am I doing?
I swallow thickly and slap my hands against my face.
“Snap out of it, Blaire,” I say to myself. “It’s too soon. Too soon.”
My words have no effect on my body, though. I’m still incredibly turned on, my core pulsing, and my nipples pebbled. I’ve never had a fantasy quite that detailed and with Ryder.
Tears leak out of my eyes, lost in the water. I feel like I’m cheating on Ben, even though that’s not true. He’s gone, and I have every right to move on, but I can’t seem to let go. I guess it’s easier to hold on.
“Fuck,” I curse, slapping my hand against the tiled wall. “Dammit, Ben, why did this have to happen,” I scream, still beating my hands against the wall. “It’s not fair! I hate you! I fucking hate you for leaving me! I hate you so much! I hate this!” I sob and sink down onto the floor of the shower. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I repeat over and over again, but what I really mean is I hate myself.
“Blaire?” I hear pounding against the door. I cover my ears with my hands. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Is this a mental break? “Blaire?”
I can still hear the pounding even through my covered ears and the roar of the water.
When the shower curtain is torn back, I jolt away, covering my body.
“Oh, Blaire,” Ryder breathes. He grabs a towel and bends down to me in the bottom of the tub, cowering away like a wounded animal. He’s the last person I want to see right now after my fantasy or whatever you want to call it.
He turns the water off and wraps the towel around me. His strong arms wind around me and he lifts me up, cradling me against his chest. I hang there like a limp rag doll. I’m scared to touch him—scared of what I’ll do.
Ryder carries me down the hall to the guest room and lays me on the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells me. The worry is evident in his eyes and his boxers hang loosely on his hips like he heard me screaming and put on the first thing he could get his hands on.