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“No, that doesn’t make sense,” I say. “I’m smaller than you, I’ll fit on the couch better than you will.”
“And how many hours of sleep will you get on it?”
“Some,” is all I say.
“Case closed, Angel. I can sleep anywhere. Now go spend an hour or two in that jacuzzi tub you were eyeing.”
“Thank you!” I squeak, suddenly unnerved. And then I all but hide in the bathroom.
Carter has me off balance. He keeps being so damn nice, rather than needling me, and I have no idea how to react. How many times can I say thank you? I need to get my bite back.
I look at the tub and decide that’s the answer. I’ll shower, wash my hair, and—this is crucial—smell good again. I may not have any makeup with me, but I’ll make do. Maybe if I don’t look completely heinous I’ll find my footing with him once again.
I turn to the mirror and wince as soon as I see my reflection because the shower has some heavy lifting to do. My hair is scraped back into a messy bun that looks nothing like the cute messy buns I see on social media. It’s giving more rat girl than anything else. I don’t even want to see what the curls are like in there. My skin is flushed and there’s a discernible layer of grime coating me, from sweat and hiking and not showering.
I turn the shower on and then rifle through the bath products Margery pointed out. I find some shampoo and conditioner that will probably work on my hair, as well as shower gel and face wash.
I step into the water and let out an audible groan. It feels so damn good. I turn the heat up and just stand there for a few minutes, luxuriating in it all. I wash my body, and then turn to my hair. Working the tangles out just with my fingers is a chore, but I manage, and I leave the conditioner on for a good five minutes after.
I rinse, shut the water off, and immediately start praying that my hair doesn’t dry in a puff ball. I don’t have my arsenal of hair products with me, and I’d rather not look like a poodle in front of Carter.
After I dry off and blot my hair with a towel, I realize that the only clothing I have with me in here is the same stuff I’ve been wearing for three days straight. Margery said she’d bring us things, so I wrap myself up in the towel once more and head back into the main room.
Carter is standing by the window, a pair of binoculars pressed against his eyes. He must have had them with him this whole time. Which makes sense given who he is and where we are.
“Hey,” I say. “Looking for birds?”
“Yes, and I’ve spotted a few puffins flying to the island,” he says, and then turns to face me.
I see the exact moment he realizes I’m in just a towel. Granted, it’s big enough to cover everything and I’m holding it up tightly, but still. It’s less than he’s seen me in for a while.
His eyes go wide, and his pupils darken as he looks me up and down. He stares intently at the hand I’m using to hold up the towel, as if he’s willing me to drop it.
I let myself imagine what would happen if I did. If I let him see everything he so clearly wants. If I got down on my knees before him and freed his cock from his pants, took it in my hands and stroked it, sucked it, until he cried out my name.
I blink, and will that filthy image out of my mind.
“Did Margery bring the clothes yet?”
He just continues to stare at me.
“Carter?”
“Hm?”
“Clothes. Do we have any?”
“Right. Yeah. Over on the couch.”
I scurry over the couch, gripping the towel even harder. I find a pile of women’s clothes, including a pack of underwear and a sports bra, and I silently send up blessings to Margery. She hasalso left us some deodorant, toothbrushes, and moisturizer. It’s not exactly a Sephora haul, but it’ll do.
I go back into the bathroom, and change, loving the feel of the clean clothes. Margery left a few t-shirts and jeans, and I choose one with navy blue stripes and buttons on the shoulder. It’s more nautical than I tend towards, but we are on a small island after all.
“The shower is all yours,” I tell Carter when I’m done.
He just nods, grabs the other pile of clothes, and heads into the bathroom. Alone for the first time in days, I decide to take the time to video call my moms. It’s been too long since I heard their voices or saw their faces, and I know they must be worried, my texts and voice notes aside.
My mama Donna answers on the first ring.
