She waves enthusiastically and ends the live stream.
The screen goes dark.
Then she sighs—deep and exhausted—and puts her hand over her chest like she's trying to calm her racing heart.
I lean against the doorframe, content to just watch her for a moment. She seems deep in thought, processing the emotional vulnerability she just shared with thousands of strangers.
Then she looks back casually—probably intending to grab something from the nightstand—and realizes I'm standing there.
Her eyes widen comically. She freezes mid-reach.
Then very slowly, obviously, with zero subtlety whatsoever, she checks me out from head to toe.
Her gaze starts at my face, travels down to linger on my bare chest and the water droplets still clinging to my skin, traces the definition of my abs, stops pointedly at the white towel wrapped low around my hips—dangerously low—then quickly jerks back up to my face with a blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks like wildfire.
Right. I'm only wearing a towel.
That probably just occurred to her conscious brain even though her eyes were definitely appreciating the view.
Good to know the attraction isn't one-sided.
Fair is fair.
I let myself check her out properly now that we're both fully aware of each other's presence and the somewhat compromising state of undress we're both in.
She's wearing one of the new cozy cashmere sweaters we bought her today at the lodge boutique—a cream-colored one that's deliberately oversized and looks impossibly soft, the kind of fabric that makes you want to touch it just to feel the texture. It's falling off one shoulder to expose her delicate collarbone and the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. And she's wearing cute knitted socks in a cable pattern that go all the way up past her knees to her mid-thigh, leaving just a few tantalizing inches of bare creamy skin visible before the sweater hem begins.
I dare to wonder—can't help wondering even though it's probably going to torture me—if she's wearing anything underneath that oversized sweater. Panties? A bra? Nothing at all?
The thought sends blood rushing south with alarming speed and intensity.
No. Don't go there. You have to actually sleep tonight and you're not doing it with a raging painful hard-on that won't go away.
"Was I disturbing you?" she asks quietly, nervously biting her bottom lip in a way that draws my attention directly to her mouth.
I shake my head firmly.
"No. Not at all. I wanted to check on you before I go lay down for the night. Make sure you're settling in okay and have everything you need."
"Oh!" She seems relieved by that answer, her shoulders relaxing visibly.
Then she picks up her new phone from where it's resting on the plush white bedspread, now safely enclosed in a clear glitter case that catches the light. She holds it up to show me with obvious pride radiating from her entire posture.
"Look! Isn't it so pretty? Everyone in the comments was saying it's sold out everywhere for weeks before its even come out thanks to the preorders and people are stalking the website daily waiting for restocks!"
I grin despite my bone-deep exhaustion.
"I'm glad you like it. You deserve nice things, Reverie. You deserve to have technology that works properly and supports what you're trying to build."
She nods swiftly, clutching the phone like it's something precious and irreplaceable.
Then she yawns—wide and completely unable to suppress it, her jaw cracking slightly.
"You going to work out in the morning?" she asks once the yawn finally passes and she can speak again.
"Yeah, probably around 0600. Can't break routine even on vacation. Discipline is discipline."
I pause deliberately, then ask, "Are you still planning to do Pilates on the deck tomorrow morning like you mentioned in the live stream?"
