“That’s it.” I throw my arms up but catch myself before my towel drops. “We’re moving to my condo.”
“No.” He shakes his head, looking around. “I’ll have a plumber come and get everything fixed this week.”
“A week!” My eyes go wide. “What am I supposed to do without a bathroom for a week?”
“Share mine.” He lifts his shoulders, pulling my gaze to his glistening skin.
And suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that we’re both standing in nothing but soaked towels. Our eyes meet, and the chaos fades into silence, thick and charged.
His gaze drops, lingering on the curve of my collarbone where the towel has slipped just a little. I clutch it tighter and do the one thing I shouldn’t do.
I drop my eyes to his chest.
It’s only fair.
His muscles tell a story: a lifetime of hard work, heavy lifting, and good genes.
“You know, if you wanted me in your shower this badly, all you had to do was ask.” The teasing behind his voice, mixed with a thick drawl, makes my stomach flip.
I swallow, jerking my eyes up to his face and the arrogant lift of his lips.
He’s joking, but I don’t care.
Survival instincts take over. I snap my chin up, kick the door forward, slamming it in his smug, devastatingly attractive face.
There’s a low chuckle as I spin around and rest my back against the door.
Of course there was a pipe break my first week here.
How terribly cliché.
I guess this marriage thing isn’t as easy as I thought.
Hess
When I agreed to marry Camila five and a half years ago, I didn’t anticipate living together or sharing a bathroom with her.
Sharing a bathroom with a woman is not for the faint of heart.
It’s only been a few days of this, but I feel like us living together is taking years off my life.
The bathroom counter looks like a bomb went off. Tubes, brushes, sprays, trinkets, concoctions, bottles—most of itunidentifiable to a layman. All this mayhem is scattered across what used to be my space.
I just stand there, staring, not sure if I’m supposed to live with the chaos or grab the garbage can and throw it all away. Tempting, but instead I push it all aside, everything sliding into a messy pile in the corner.
One bottle accidentally falls to the ground, and I pick it up, reading the label.Midnight Addiction, Bath & Body Works.
Interesting name, given our living arrangements.
I read the description:An edgy, seductive vibe you can’t stay away from.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say to myself as I pop the cap and sniff. Dark, sharp. The kind of scent that pulls you closer before you realize it’s too late.
Yep. Trouble, plain and simple.
I set the bottle down, hoping I never come in contact with that smell at midnight.
I notice Camila’s handwriting on another bottle. One of those cheap little travel things you get at Walmart. It saysface wash. I glance in the mirror and lean closer, examining a tiny blemish forming at my hairline. Figures. I shrug, squeeze some cream into my hand, and rub it over my face, even into the skin under my stubble. Cool, clean, better than I expected. I rinse it off and pat my hands dry on the towel.
