Now.
I blow out a breath through my nose.
“Fine,” I mutter, more annoyed than anything.
I look down and see all the grime on myself. Smears on my forearms, damp marks on my clothes where I leaned into him. Blood and dust on my white shirt. Whatever he dragged home, and I picked up.
I pull my shirt over my head.
“You just want to watch me shower,” I say.
“Mhmm,” he says, head leaned back against the wall.
Pants unbuttoned, shoved down, kicked away. His good eye narrows.
I look down. “What?” I ask.
He lifts a brow and looks down at my pants, then right at my pussy.
“I don’t think you’re in any condition for that,” I say.
He does the same motion again, and I follow his eyes. When I figure out what he’s indicating, my cheeks heat.
No panties.
“Yeah, well. You missed out. Big time,” I say and step back into the spray.
He makes a slight groaning sound, and I suppress a smile.
The water’s warm, and it hits my skin with relief. My hair was pulled back and didn’t really get hit with anything, but the thought of all the grime Nico brought in, I feel gross not including it. I do it quickly, then grab the soap and scrub everywhere until the slick, dirty feeling is gone and the water running off my body is clear.
When I’m done, I reach for a towel and dry off quickly, because I’m not done dealing with him yet. I find a robe hanging on the back of the door and shrug into it. It’s huge and hangs off me, butit’ll do for now. I grab a couple more towels and walk back into the shower.
He’s sitting the same way I left him, head back, eyes half-lidded, water dripping off his lashes and down his chest in slow trails.
As gently as possible, I rub one towel over his hair, and then blot it over his skin instead of rubbing.
When I’ve dried as much of him as I can sitting, I use the towel to get a grip on him since his skin is still fairly slick.
“We’re going to stand up now, okay?” I say softly. “Ready?”
He plants his feet and rises slowly, using the wall and the bench, while I help as much as I can.
When he’s standing straight, I quickly dry all the spots I couldn’t reach before, then wrap the dry towel around his waist.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, and help him out of the shower.
Chapter Thirty Six
Nico
By the time she gets me back into the living room and helps me into the recliner, my whole body locks up like it’s deciding to quit on me all at once.
Every shift pulls. Every breath presses against bruises I can’t see without a mirror. My ribs feel like someone took a bat to them—because someone did, in a way—and my shoulder is stiff enough that I can barely get comfortable. The towel around my waist is the only thing between me and the furniture, and even that feels like too much effort to keep in place.
Erica hovers for half a second like she’s ready to catch me if I tip over.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” Erica asks.
