Page 25 of Wine & Dine

11

Shower me

[Dolores]

Once the shower door closes, the tears fall in earnest again. I haven’t cried this hard or for this long as far back as I can remember—not in front of someone else and especially not in front of someone I hardly know. Keeping my emotions to myself has taken years to perfect. James Harrington was the first to teach me this lesson. My heart cracked when he didn’t return the feelings of love I had for him, but it wasn’t fully broken. Rusty finished the shattering with his cavalier attitude about our relationship—or lack thereof one.

My mother was the one to teach me to keep my feelings in check.

Never let a man know how you feel. He’ll use it against you at every turn. Spoken like a woman truly scorned, I never wanted to be bitter like her. Somedays, it was difficult to contain my emotions. I’d reveal a little bit of myself, ask for a little bit more from Rusty, and demand a little compassion from my mother. Magnolia tried to sympathize, but she was a woman near eighty, and her Victorian ideals sometimes clashed with the modern era.

My palms lay flat against the cool tile wall of Garrett’s shower. A glass box on three sides large enough to fit two. Water streams down on me from an overhead rain shower. The droplets burn at first as my skin is colder than I realize. My fingers curl into fists as I can’t seem to control the tears or the wracking sobs in my chest. My heart literally hurts.

My head lowers, allowing the spray to wash over the back of my neck and down my spine. I want to scrub off my skin and the pain of loneliness that goes with it. I also want the heartache of feeling unaccomplished to swirl down the drain.

I’m almost fifty, and where am I in life?

I didn’t hear the shower door open, but suddenly, I sense his presence. Garrett’s like a shadow, one I find comforting and endearing just when I need one.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers behind me, and I stiffen. I can’t do this right now. I can’t have sex with him, and the tears fall harder. I don’t even know if I want to have sex with him.

As if reading my mind, his hand comes to my lower back.

“No funny business, okay? Just…I don’t know how to help. Let me help.” He pauses, his fingers tickling the base of my spine lightly. “Stay as you are, facing away from me. I have my boxers on. Just let me…” His voice drifts as his hand travels up my spine. He reaches around me for the shampoo bottle on the ledge, and I hear the cap snap open. Then fingertips touch my scalp.

With a gentle massage, Garrett scrubs at my hair, piling it high and rubbing the nape of my neck. He whispers shushing sounds and mutters words of sympathy. I’m here for you. The pleasurable pressure on my head is too difficult to deny, and I willingly let him wash my hair. He guides my body forward and back to rinse the sudsy tresses. It’s messy as it flows down my face, and I swipe at my cheeks to find I’m still crying, but I’m no longer sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” I say, though I don’t know what I’m apologizing for.

“No need to apologize.” His forehead comes to the back of my head. “Just try to relax, okay?” His hand brushes down my spine again, and then he reaches for the soap. Firm fingers press into my shoulders, thumbs digging into tense muscles, spreading suds across my shoulder blades and lowering to the curve of my ass. He doesn’t slip below a line, staying respectful and courteous. In some ways, I don’t want him to be polite. I want him to take me up against this wall, thrust into me, and make me scream. However, I know seconds after something like that happens, I’ll feel just as empty as I do right now.

He pushes me forward so the water travels down my back as it rinses the soap clean.

“The water’s getting cool. Almost ready to step out?”

I nod, and he reaches around me for the faucet. “Stay here. Don’t turn around.” His sharp tone warns me he’s struggling. I mean, I am a naked woman in his shower. With the shower off, I shiver and fold my arms across my breasts.

Within seconds, Garrett is behind me again. “Lift,” he demands, and my arms spread. A towel wraps around my back, and I take the edge to secure the thick terrycloth material around me. Garrett spins me to face him, and his hands come to my cheeks. He swipes his thumbs over them and then steps back for the open shower door. When I step out, he points at a large white robe hanging on the back of the door.

“Put that on. I just need a minute.”

Reaching for the robe, I hear the slap of wet material hit the shower floor. I will myself not to look as I hear the shower turn back on. I risk a peek to see water streaming over Garrett’s firm body. Rivers slither down his back and spread over his solid ass. He scrubs quickly at his hair and the raised arms flex, displaying his strength. I recall how he carried me to his car.

“Thank you,” I whisper even though I know my voice doesn’t carry loud enough over the spray. He turns his head to see me still standing in his bathroom, and a sly smirk comes to his lips.

“Have a seat in my room.” He nods toward the door, but his eyes hold mine. He isn’t staring; he’s begging me to step out.

I turn away and enter his room. On the stand next to the bed sits a bottle of amber alcohol with a cup of tea next to it. I fold myself onto his mattress, propping up pillows behind me and tucking my feet into the end of the robe. Warmth surrounds me as I brush back my hair with my fingers. I reach for the tea and take a sip. It’s still hot and smells sweet. The taste tickles my tongue.

“I put whiskey in there. Drink up. It will warm you from the inside.” I stare up at him as he stands just outside his bathroom door. A towel similar to the one I used drapes around his hips, exposing a thick trail of fine hairs to his belly button. He could warm me from the inside out.

“Thank you for all this,” I say, my voice low and rough from crying. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Garrett crosses the room to one of his dressers and removes some clothing. “Stay right there,” he commands, not addressing my comment. “Be right back.”

He returns minutes later dressed in a pair of loose gray lounge pants and a white undershirt. He’s so good looking, I think for the millionth time. He makes sleepwear look sexy. Crawling up next to me on the bed, he spreads out on his stomach and props himself up on an elbow.

“What were you doing out there?” He isn’t judging me. He’s curious, concerned even. I can’t remember the last time someone worried about me.