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On the downside, I feel good enough to recognize how gross I feel. My skin is sticky, my teeth are gritty, and I undoubtedly stink. I need a shower so badly my hair hurts.
I get up to pee, fully intending to go all the way back to my cottage to shower, but the trek to the toilet is enough to leave me winded.
Even if Ian volunteered to carry me back to my cottage, there’s no way I’d let anyone touch me when I smell like this. I tuck my nose into the collar of my T-shirt and give a sniff.
Yep. This is why medieval Europeans thought the plague was spread by smell alone.
From beyond the open door of the bedroom, I can hear the murmur of Ian on the phone and decide to take matters into my own hands.
I sneak into the bathroom and crank on the shower.
Is it weird to shower in someone’s bathroom? Possibly.
But, I’ve been sleeping in his bed and peeing in his toilet for days now, so this isn’t any weirder than that. I just hope the shower revives me enough that I have the energy to put fresh sheets on his bed, because he has already gone above and beyond in caring for me.
I’m already in the shower when there’s a knock on the door.
“Yeah?”
The glass encased shower isn’t directly in the line of sight of the door, but there are mirrors scattered around the room, so I can see the reflection of the door cracking open.
Ian barely opens the door and calls through the gap. “You’re showering?”
I feel well enough to smirk as I parrot his standard answer. “Obviously.”
There’s an awkward beat before he asks, “Do you need any help?” He clears his throat and then adds in a rush, “Not in a creepy way. Just because you’ve been sick.”
“No. I’ve got this.” But thanks for driving home how unappealing you find me.
Though to be fair, no one is at their sexiest when they’ve been sick.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t seem safe. The last time you were up, you could barely stand on your own.”
“I am fine. I promise.” It’s a little weird talking to him while I shower. There’s an intimacy to it, what with me being naked and this space being so much his. I don’t let myself think about it too long because it feels like dangerous ground. Like territory he wouldn’t want my mind tromping around in.
So I push the thought aside and squirt a dollop of shampoo from a fancy-looking bottle into my palm. It smells like him. Woodsy and masculine. “I promise I’ll sit down if I feel lightheaded.”
“That’s less reassuring than you think.”
“I’m almost done, anyway.”
“Do you even have clothes to change into?”
I pause while rinsing my hair. Clearly, I did not think this through.
In my haste to get in the shower and de-gunk my hair, I didn’t think as far as clothes. “I guess I’ll just put on what I had.”
Yep, that’s gross, but not as gross as my hair was five minutes ago.
“My closet opens into the bathroom. Help yourself to a T-shirt and sweats or whatever.”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, I hear the door close again. I rinse my hair and give my body a final scrub.
When I’m done with the shower, I wrap myself in a huge, fluffy towel, then I pad barefoot over to the door at the end of the room that must open into his closet.
His closet is as expensive and luxurious as I would’ve expected. There’s a section of suits and business attire, even though I’ve never seen him dressed in anything other than sweats and T-shirts. Another row of less formal clothing, that, again, he doesn’t wear. The opposite wall has a built-in dresser and shelving. That’s where I find the sweats and T-shirts that are so familiar.
