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“Good idea.” He turned in each direction, then stopped, unsure.
I almost laughed, and I knew that probably wasn’t the right response. Maybe I was having a delayed reaction. He was in panic mode, clearly. While I felt... decidedly calm. I took his wrist and pulled him toward my bathroom. “Come with me.”
I wrapped the condom in a wad of toilet paper and tossed it into the bin and turned the shower on, and that seemed to kick-start Keats into gear. Because gone was the floundering guy who didn’t know what to do, and in his place was someone who was focused.
He was focused on me.
He scrubbed us both down with the soapy loofah, but then he took his time gently washing me. It was with a sense of reverence, almost. He was quiet, serious, and clearly very sorry.
Then he cupped my face and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll give you a minute, okay?”
I gave a nod, and he got out, wrapped a towel around himself, and left me alone.
His reaction was a little weird. Granted, this whole scenario was unexpected and not ideal, but I was getting a glimpse of Keats that I hadn’t seen.
And that was the crux of it. Because yes, we’d gone and fallen headfirst into a relationship, boyfriend territory, and yet we didn’t know each other. Not really.
Not at all.
I took some time to clean my arse, which Keats had done too, and for all the good intentions, it made no difference. The damage was done.
If there was damage done, that was.
I guess finding that out was the next step.
I shut off the water, dried off, and got dressed. I noticed Keats’ clothes were gone from my bedroom floor and I had to wonder if he was even still here...
The house was quiet and I had a godawful feeling that he’d bailed.
But when I walked out to my living room, he was there on the couch, looking at his phone. He stood up when he saw me. “Hey,” he said gently. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
Because I was.
He held up his phone. “There’s a twenty-four-hour health clinic in Surry Hills.” Then he swallowed hard. “If you want me to take you. I’ll understand if you’d rather not.”
“If I’d rather not?”
His nostrils flared and he—god, was he about to cry?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, and you can be mad at me. Or blame me, I?—”
“Okay, stop,” I said, walking to him and taking his hand. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.”
“You don’t?”
I shook my head. “No. Not at all. Let’s just deal with it.”
He nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry I freaked out before.”
“You’re still kinda freaking out.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I just... I feel responsible.”
I took a deep breath in. “I’m going to call Cory. He’s more adept at this stuff.”
He opened his mouth, then promptly shut it and nodded. “Okay, yes. Whatever you need.”
