Page 40 of The Truth of Us

I braced for how he would react; this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. He kissed the back of my head and got ‌out of his bed. Elliot walked in front of me, his tanned skin on beautiful display as he wore only a pair of navy blue boxer briefs.

And that is how I ended up in his shower, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this somehow felt more intimate than him fucking me against his kitchen island.

The large marble shower filled with steam while warm water cascaded over my skin.

Elliot stood behind me, his hands moving slowly as he worked shampoo through my hair. Which should not have been hot, and yet...

“There is something unsettling about this,” I informed him.

“What part?”

“You. Washing my hair like...”

Elliot laughed quietly behind me. “Like what?”

“It feels very domestic. Have you ever washed a woman's hair before?”

Elliot went quiet, and I wasn’t sure what that was about. I tilted my head back slightly as his fingers worked gently through my hair. And a flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with my period overwhelmed me. That feeling that whispered… What if?

What if this could be real?

What if I just gave in, forgot my rules, and…

I hated that feeling. Because men like Elliot did not become safe simply by learning to touch you gently. And women like me should absolutely know better than to confuse intimacy with permanence.

Even if part of me wanted to.

Which was the real problem.

11

HARPER

Somewhere between fake dates, charity events, late-night takeout, and waking up in his bed wearing one of his shirts after he convinced me sleepovers didn't technically count if I fell asleep accidentally, he'd become part of my life.

A temporary part, an expiration-date part, a thirty-day part, I reminded myself of that regularly.

Usually, right before I did something stupid, like missing him. Which was exactly what I was doing Thursday afternoon when he cancelled dinner. His text had been short.

Elliot:

Can't tonight. Something came up.

There wasn’t any teasing or unnecessary commentary, just that. I stared at it longer than was reasonable. Then I told myself I was being ridiculous. He was a busy man; something probably came up. I tried to push it aside, but ended up staring at it some more. Because something felt off. By six o'clock, I was home, showered, barefoot in my townhouse, wearing jeans and a cropped t-shirt, and trying very hard to enjoy the unexpected evening at home. I had wine, a fuzzy blanket, and a terrible reality show. I should have been thrilled. Instead, I kept checking my phone. Which was pathetic. I hated that for me.

Finally, I gave in and called Julian.

"Should I be concerned?" he asked immediately.

"Wow! Hello to you, too."

A pause, then, "What's wrong?"

I frowned, "Nothing's wrong."

Another pause, then, “Why are you calling me then?”

OKAY!