But I’m not done. The soap deserves a full-body trial. Another pump, and I work it over my skin, letting the heat of the shower and the smooth glide of the foam make me forget how utterly insane this day has been. My hands trail over my arms, my legs, and— Nope, stopping that thought right there.
“Manly soap,” I mumble, scrubbing harder. “Manly, manly soap. Not a metaphor. Not a problem.”
By the time I’m done, the bathroom smells like the aftermath of a high-end bachelor party. I turn off the water, the silence almost deafening, and step carefully onto the marble floor. My legs are jelly, and I’m ninety percent sure the combination of heat, steam, and weed has turned my brain into soup.
I grab a towel—beige, soft, and big enough to wrap myself, though just barely. It lands just above my ass, which is, frankly, a personal victory, given how short it is.
“It’s fine,” I tell myself, adjusting it. “Just wait for the high to wear off. Find help. Go home. Pretend this day never happened.”
10
Bella
Iclutch the too-small towel against my chest and shuffle out of the bathroom, trying not to drip all over what’s probably a fortune in hardwood flooring. The steam follows me like a cloud of bad decisions, which feels oddly appropriate given my current life choices.
“Don’t look at him,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t you dare look at—”
My eyes betray me, snapping straight to the portrait. Those steel-gray eyes catch mine, and I swear the smirk has gotten worse. More knowing. More dangerous.
“This is your fault,” I tell him, gesturing at my damp self with my free hand. “You and your… your everything. Who gave you permission to look like that while I’m high and vulnerable and—?”
My shoulders sag, the fight draining out of me as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My eyes drop, drifting downto my trembling hands clutching the towel. For a moment, I focus on the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest, trying to anchor myself in something—anything—that isn’t the pull of his painted gaze.
But then my eyes betray me again, wandering sideways, trailing over the gleaming floor and back to the massive bed looming to my right, all dark silk sheets and plush pillows. It looks obscenely comfortable, like it could swallow me whole, and I’d thank it for the privilege.
A tiny red-horned version of myself pops up on my shoulder, wearing what looks suspiciously like Elena’s favorite leather miniskirt.“Come on,”Mini-Devil Me purrs, filing her nails with a pitchfork.“That bed is practically begging for it. When’s the last time you felt silk sheets against your skin?”
“Shut up,” I hiss at my shoulder. “You’re not real. You’re just the weed talking.”
Mini-Devil Me rolls her eyes.“Honey, that weed wore off twenty minutes ago. This is all you being thirsty.”
“No,” I say firmly, trying to ignore how Mini-Devil Me is now sprawled across my shoulder, making bedroom eyes at the portrait. “Absolutely not. That’s not—” I take a step closer. “I mean, I could just sit. Just for a minute. To collect my thoughts. That’s… that’s reasonable, right?”
Mini-Devil Me snaps her fingers and disappears in a puff of red smoke, her cackling echoing in my head.“Sure, sweetie. ‘Collect your thoughts.’ Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I perch on the edge of the bed, and holy mother of sin—it’s warm. Like someone with a body temperature hot enough to melt steel just abandoned these sheets. The silk slides against my bare legs like a lover’s caress, and I have to bite down on my lip hard enough to leave marks to keep from making sounds that would make a porn star blush.
“This is fine,” I tell myself, trying to sound professional even as I lean back on my elbows. “I’m just… testing the mattress. For work. Market research. Like how car salesmen have to test drive vehicles. Totally normal. Totally—oh fuck.”
And then it happens. That scent. His scent. That ridiculously expensive soap is all over my skin, wrapping around me like invisible hands. I close my eyes, but sweet baby Jesus, that only makes everything worse. Because now there’s nothing to distract me from how every inch of my skin feels like it’s been lit up with sparklers, how the silk sheets are basically making out with my bare legs, and how that portrait’s eyes seem to have burned themselves into the back of my eyelids.
Mini-Devil Me’s voice echoes in my head:“Go on, touch the sheets. I dare you.”
“I hate you,” I whisper to my absent shoulder demon. “I hate you, and I hate this bed, and I especially hate that portrait.”
But I’m already running my fingers across the silk, and I swear to God, these sheets just moaned.
Mini-Devil Me materializes again, now lounging on a tiny chaise made of my bad ideas.“Speaking of bad ideas…”She points one perfectly manicured finger toward the armchair.“Elena’s birthday gift is getting lonely.”
“You deserve something nice on your birthday,” I find myself mimicking Elena’s voice, my eyes locked on my bag like it might spontaneously combust. “It’s self-care, Bella. Live a little.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Mini-Devil Me cuts me off with a laugh that sounds suspiciously like Elena after three margaritas.
“Honey, you’re already in his bed, wearing his soap like perfume, and eye-fucking his portrait. You crossed the line of ‘not’ about ten terrible decisions ago.”
I groan, but my feet are already carrying me to the armchair. The neon-green monstrosity practically glows in the dim light,like some kind of radioactive beacon of poor impulse control. I cradle it awkwardly, like it might bite.
“This is insane,” I tell it. “But then again, I’m talking to an inanimate object while another inanimate object judges me from the wall, so clearly sanity left the building hours ago.”
