Who had daddy issues, like someone else I knew…
Sighing, I turned back to the bed and finished making it up. Then I looked at the pile of clothing Dylan had so thoughtfully provided me. I picked up the white t-shirt and sniffed. It smelled clean. I don’t know why I’d expected them to smell like him. But that scent had been so comforting in his truck on the drive over.
Or maybe that was him.
I was so screwed up I didn’t know what to think.
Shaking my head, I shrugged off my clothes and pulled on his.
The sweatpants drooped so much I had to fold the waistband over three times.
For some reason, that made my breath hitch. My emotions bubbled just below the surface. If I tried to take a deep breath, they threatened to overtake me.
As I tried to fall asleep, I tried not to think about how truly fucked I was.
Tears clouded my eyes, blurring the dark ceiling overhead.
What was I going to do? How was I going to get through this?
It all just felt so hopeless.
* * *
The next thing I knew, the scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee teased me awake.
God, what did he do this time?
I opened my eyes. But it wasn’t my bedroom ceiling I was looking at. The water stain and cracked drywall were missing.
And it all came crashing back.
The mural.
Dylan.
The apartment.
How truly screwed I was.
“Uh,” I groaned, scrubbing at my face. I felt so grungy and crusty. Paint from last night still flecked all over my hands and arms. My face was no doubt all crusty from my crying jag last night. Nothing would make me feel better faster than jumping through the shower…well, aside from soaking in a huge tub, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Literally.
Groaning at my awful attempt at humor, I got out of bed and grabbed my clothes off the floor. Then I tiptoed out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.
Bacon popped in the distance, followed by Dylan’s muttered cursing.
The normalcy of the sounds made me smile.
And my smile stayed as I saw the variety of toothbrushes he’d laid out for me last night.
I closed and locked the door behind me, quickly went through my morning ablutions then eyed the huge shower stall in the corner. You could easily fit five people in the thing. And yet the tile choice seemed distinctly feminine—so unlike Dylan. Choices by the previous owner? Either way, the white patterned lantern tile and black fixtures looked so amazing. And so many showerheads! I had to get inside ASAP.
I quickly stripped then eyeballed the bathroom door. It was locked, but it still felt so weird to be in a stranger’s home taking a shower.
Was I safe?
Could I trust him?
