“Shit. Sorry. Did I nick you?”
“Feels like it,” I grumble.
“Sorry, Lace,” he says again. “You can’t feel everything in there, but one thing you’ll always be able to feel is physical pain.”
“Good to know.” All the bad sensations and none of the good. Typical. “Canyoufeel pain?”
“Not really.” He swallows. “If I’m being honest, I miss it.”
Pain is very human, but I won’t say that and risk him getting angry again.
Kit finishes up then reaches in the basket again. He pulls another bottle. “What’s this?” he asks. From the loud popping sound it makes as he snaps open the top, I know.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Put it back.”
He continues to examine the bottle with his hands. “But what is it?”
I cover my eyes. “Oh my god, Kit. It’s soap for my vulva.”
“Oh.”
“Oh. Put it back,” I demand.
He hesitates. “Well, don’t I need to use it down there?”
“Nope,” I say quickly. “I do not need your hand between my legs. I’m sure the body wash cleaned me sufficiently.”
“Are you sure?—?”
“Yes.”
He resigns. “All right. All right.” He puts it back and cranks off the shower. He flings open the curtain and reaches an arm out to blindly feel for the towel hung on a hook on the wall. Once he finds the towel, he wraps it around himself and steps out of the shower. He flips back on the bathroom light when my body is covered, and as soon as we lock eyes in the mirror he says, “Well, that truly was an adventure.”
My face falls flat. “One we hopefully won’t have to repeat.”
The doorbell rings, and our heads simultaneously snap toward the sound.
“Any idea who that could be?” he asks.
I chew my lip as I think. “Not Meggie since it’s the middle of the day. A package, maybe? I didn’t order anything, but I have fans that send things. Normally they go to my PO box, but sometimes they show up here.”
He huffs quietly. “People know your address?”
“They’re not supposed to, but they find it,” I admit.
“I don’t like that.”
My heart twitches at his words—the concern in his tone. “Me neither, but what am I going to do?”
He flips off the light so he can switch from the towel into my robe then exits the bathroom, tiptoeing toward the front door as the bell rings again. “Keep me around to protect you from creeps.”
“Wild that you’re not including yourself in that category,” I deadpan.
“I’m not acreep. I’m evil. There’s a difference.”
“Sure.” Though, I do agree. Kind of a weirdo, but not a creep.
Kit peeks out the peephole. “Recognize them?”
