“Do you have a skincare routine? You can use whatever of mine, or if you have something specific in your room?”
He laughs. “No. I wash my face in the shower.”
“Oh no,” I say, horrified. “With your body wash?”
“Or my shampoo if it runs down my face.”
Larson’s laughter at my appalled expression echoes off the walls. “No. No, that won’t do. Come here.”
Obediently, Larson comes closer. I sit him on the closed toilet seat and grab a fresh washcloth. I heat it up with hot water and put it on his face to dampen his skin and open his pores. First, a fresh shave.
I set the cloth aside and get his jaw and neck lathered with cream. Not the kind that makes a thick coat of white foam. This is thinner, doesn’t clump up like foam, and you can see the skin through a light layer of softening gel.
I’m careful as I follow the obvious path of where he shaves and what he leaves behind. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense. His eyes remain locked on my face. As much as I’d love to stare into his pretty eyes, I don’t look away from my task of shaving him until he’s exactly neat.
While I clean the blade off, I put the hot, wet cloth back on his face. I have shave oil somewhere. It takes me several minutes to find it. It’s not often that I let my facial hair grow. I have to be in a mood.
Then I wash him using my little finger sponge, gently making small circles all around his cheeks, nose, and eyes.
His hands rest on the backs of my thighs. They’re like two hot irons that feel as if they’re slowly burning me. I’m not sure I’ve ever washed someone’s face before. Standing over him like this with his eyes closed to keep the soap out, I’m able to examine every inch of him without feeling awkward for staring.
The shape of his face is rugged. Masculine. Pronounced cheekbones. Nose slightly crooked. There’s a faded scar just above his right eyebrow. A longer one by his ear.
I scrub his facial hair to get it nice and fresh before proceeding with cleaning the soap from his skin with a hot cloth that’s just barely not dripping wet. Next is drying him, which I primarily let the air do.
I love touching him, memorizing his face with my fingers as the next step of toner goes on. I need to close his pores and notfill them with anything else. That’s how zits happen. Moisturizer is next on his bare skin, and then beard oil. Lastly, I use the tiny comb to brush out his beard.
When I finally look at him. His eyes are open, his lips curved in a soft smile.
“Thank you,” he says, voice quiet. “I enjoyed that a lot.”
“I’d be happy to do it every morning,” I say, and then inwardly flinch. It felt so intimate. Maybe more so than sex. I mean, hedidtrust me with a blade to his neck. What’s more intimate than that?
His hands on the backs of my legs pull me closer. I’m already practically against him, so I lean down and press my lips to his. Not sexy. Just… domestic. Romantic.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I whisper.
Larson nods.
As with the bathroom, Larson joins me and watches as I get ready for the day. The only time I get more than a warm smile as he watches is when he sees my wall of shoes in the closet. His eyes widen, and then he laughs. “Wow. Not what I was expecting.” His fingers trail against a slinky silver pair with a wicked heel. “What do you wear these with? Where?”
“That’s a super sexy piece. I’ll show you one day,” I promise as I take a pair of wedge sandals from the shelf. I still need to get my toes cleaned up, but that’ll have to wait.
Once I’m ready and turn to him with a smile, his finger trails along my jaw. “You’re the most stunning person I’ve laid eyes on, Dylan,” he murmurs. “You take my breath away, both raw and dolled up.”
My heart nearly comes out of my chest. “Let’s go,” I whisper. “Before we climb back into bed and I make you squeal like a dolphin.”
His laughter is sexy, low. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my feet off the floor. “I’m volunteering for that later. Fornow, I need some fresh clothes, and then you can show me your favorite spots on Kala.”
Larson asks a lot of questions about living on Kala as we walk toward the docks. After I lock my phone and keys in the lockers, we stop at the bulletin board showing the islands’ expansion project. He asks about the reminder that voting for the last island’s name will happen at the next town meeting, which leads to me telling him all about the meetings as we take the ferry to Anapos where he’s staying.
I stop outside his door, and he takes my hand, pulling me inside. Sure enough, Tomy’s there. He’s sitting on the balcony with a book, but turns toward us as the door opens. I’m not sure I’d smile like he is at me if the situation were reversed.
Larson kisses the top of my head and heads into the bathroom. This isn’t awkward at all.
“Hey,” Tomy says.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to steal your… date?”
