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There he is, stern Henry. I consider arguing with him, insisting he can’t tell me what to do.Even though I secretly like it.He’s right, though. John would see that as an invitation. I concede but realize I don’t have any clean clothes in Henry’s room to change into when I’m finished in the shower.
“I’ll need to run back and grab my things before I can shower,” I tell him.
“No, you don’t. I have extras of all the products I bought for everyone in the closet. You should be able to find what you need in there.” He responds from where he perched himself on the bed, checking his phone.
“I still don’t have anything to wear after my shower.”
“Sure you do. It’s in your hands.”
“The towel?” I ask.
“Precisely, what better image of you in a towel running across the house to grab your things?” His jaw ticks, and he swallows. “I mean for getting ‘caught,’ of course.”
Well, it’s nice to know one of us is thinking clearly because it’s certainly not me. “How convenient for you that I am the one who needs to run around practically naked. What is the difference between me showering in the other room and me showing up in nothing but a towel?”
“The difference is I will be escorting you while you are in nothing but the towel.” He smirks. “I suppose if you are so set on showering in the other bathroom, I can always accompany you then as well. That would certainly send a message.” He laughs to himself.
Is he offering to shower with me in the room next to John?No, he’s calling your bluff.“Fine, I’ll be quick.”
I turn and make my way into a massive shower big enough for five people.The parties he must have here.This not-so-subtle testimonial of his playboy life is a grounding reminder of who Henry is and how much I don’t fit into his lifestyle.
“Looks like your evil genius plan was unsuccessful,” I whisper to Henry as we quickly make our way from my originally assigned guestroom to his bedroom while I struggle to keep my towel in place and carry what I grabbed from the room.
“A bomb could go off, and that man would sleep through it.” Henry doesn’t bother to hide his frustration as he takes the bag from my shoulder.
I gladly hand it over since he does not feel it is necessary for him to only dress in a towel. Yet, he did select an outfit that is almost as distracting as I imagine the towel would have been. Quietly walking behind him, I savor the view of his sweatpants and the bare muscles of his back.
“Enjoying the show?” he calls back to me.
I ignore his question because it’s so obvious I am. “Please hurry, I’m getting cold and would very much like to get dressed.”
“Oh, of course,” he says as we enter his bedroom. “The bedroom is all yours. There’s a hair dryer in the bottom drawer of your nightstand.” I head in withanother look back at shirtless Henry. A memory that will now live rent-free in my head for the rest of my days.
As I work on drying my hair, Henry showers and dresses. My hair doesn’t dry as quickly as it usually does because I’m barely paying attention to what I’m doing.
When he finally finishes, he asks, “Can I borrow the hair dryer for a moment?”
After handing it to him, I turn back to the mirror to finish with my makeup but he catches me staring at him in the reflection.
He smirks, returning the hair dryer, “I’m going to head down and start prepping for breakfast. Join me when you’re ready.”
“All right,” I reply.
I spend the remainder of my time getting ready overthinking my current predicament and how much different things could have gone if John hadn’t arrived yesterday. I would still be in Henry’s home, but I would be in my own room, using my own shower and sleeping in a separate bed. Dare I sayI don’t hate how things have turned out…so far.
I hurry along with my makeup and give my hair one final fluff before heading downstairs to help Henry with breakfast. I look around for the others, but it is too quiet.
As I approach the handsome man behind the kitchen island, he hands me a tall glass. “I know my skills won’t compare to Beth’s, but I gave it a try. She was kind enough to give me very detailed directions.”
I take a sip of the delicious cold-brew coffee. “It’s perfect, thank you.”
He nods and resumes his work cutting up peppers.
“You look beautiful this morning,” he tells me while I begin to slice the potatoes.
I look around to check if someone is coming, but nothing. “You don’t have an audience at the moment. Really no need to act without one.”
“In the acting world, there is such a thing called rehearsals,” he says as he puts his knife down and moves to wash his hands off in the sink.
