Putting myself right in the path of the sprayer, which was shooting water directly at me.
I clambered against the side, attempting to sit up. No luck there. I slipped back down like a wet fish.
This was going well.
“Oh my God.” The water continued to spray my face, everything was slippery, and I couldn’t get a grip on anything, especially with only one hand. “Goddammit.”
Why did this crap always happen to me?
Fucking Murphy and his damn law.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Lyla?”
Oh thank God. “Help,” I called.
The door swung open, and Adam’s eyes widened as he took me in. His gaze traveled down to my chest, and he muttered a choked “Fuck” as he blinked slowly, twice, then covered his eyes with one hand and turned away. His eyes caught mine in the mirror, dipped again, and he uttered another strained “Fuck” as he turned toward the door.
It finally dawned on me that I wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Close your eyes!” I screeched as I covered my breasts with my good arm.
He pinched his eyes closed and just stood there, rigid and unmoving. What was he waiting for? Maybe he was so surprised my tits were hanging out he didn’t realize the water was spraying me in the face.
“Turn off the water,” I hollered when he still didn’t move.
“How do you want me to do that with my eyes closed?”
Did he not know the layout of his own bathroom?
“Follow my voice. I’ll guide you.”
He stepped forward and moved his hand along the sink, knocking my curl cream off the vanity.
“Not the sink. Over here.” I huffed and tried to cover the spray of water with my foot, which just ended up diverting water to the sides, making even more of a mess. But at least it wasn’t spraying right at me anymore.
Slowly making his way toward me, he felt around for the handle, finally finding it and turning off the water. Still keeping his eyes closed, he fumbled around for a towel on the shelf above the toilet and held it out to me.
“Cover up and I’ll help you out of the tub. Then you can explain what the hell happened.”
Was it not obvious? Why else would I be half naked, sprawled out in his tub. I sighed and covered my breasts with the towel.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He opened his eyes and awkwardly tried to help me up, almost like he didn’t know where to put his hands and was trying not to touch me.
I felt tears threatening to spill free as a mix of embarrassment and discouragement welled up. “I just wanted to wash my damn hair. Is that too much to ask?”
He stared down at me and I couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.
“Here.” He unfolded the shower chair and put it backwards in the tub. “Let me do it.”
I shook my head. No way could I ask him to do that. “It’s fine. I can wait.”
“Lyla.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sit down and let me help you.”
I recognized the look he gave me. It was the one that saiddon’targue. I let out a breath and sat down in the chair, holding the towel against my body.
As he washed my hair, I tried not to notice how good his hands felt. Because damn did they feel good. Too good.
