I stare at the frosted glass door, suddenly very aware of the fact that, yes, it does not, in fact, have a lock.
Because this place wasn’t designed for two stubborn adults with competing schedules and unresolved tension.
"Luka—" I start.
The handle turns.
I yelp and grab the shower curtain instinctively, pressing myself farther back, heart hammering as the door opens.
Luka steps in, eyes closed. Broad shoulders bare. Hair is messy from bed head. Jaw clenched like he’s bracing for impact as he feels his way through the bathroom.
"Are you crazy? I’m already in here."
"You really should have thought about that before you stole my shower."
"I still have soap in my hair," I try to reason.
"I won’t be long. You can have the shower back after."
I can’t help myself as he pulls his shirt up over his head, that torso looking just as tanned and washboard as ever. Then he pulls down his sweats and boxers, and I glance away. If his eyes are closed, it feels wrong to look. Then he steps directly in front of the shower, turning his back to me, water cascading over his shoulders.
I’m frozen. Absolutely, utterly frozen. And now I can’t look away.
Steam curls around us, the air thick and humid. The unmistakable outline of him—hard, unashamed, utterly indifferent to the fact that my entire brain just short-circuited seeing his erection.
I gasp.
"Luka, you’re—"
"It’s morning," he says flatly. "It does that."
Heat floods my face so fast that I feel dizzy.
"I—" I stammer, then stop. Because what am I supposed to say? Congratulations on your impressive biology? Sorry, your anatomy startled me? After all, it's not the first time I’ve seenhim naked, and it has me wondering exactly how many more times I’m going to see him over the course of this trip.
"If it helps," he adds, reaching for the soap without turning, "it has nothing to do with you."
Actually, that doesn’t help… It doesn't help at all. It somehow makes it worse.
I stare resolutely at the tiled wall, mortified and furious and painfully aware of every inch of space between us. The water pounds down, loud enough to drown out the sound of my pulse.
Luka Popovich is naked in the shower with me and acting like this is a minor inconvenience as he diligently scrubs shampoo through his wet hair.
"I’m surprised you’re up this early with your late-night last night," I say, fishing for information though it’s none of my business.
I wait for him to respond as he washes out the shampoo.
"I didn't sleep with her last night, if that’s what you're asking."
"You didn’t?" I ask, surprised by his answer.
"The woman you saw me with last night… I didn’t touch her. That’s what you’re hinting at."
There’s a silence between us with only the shower water filling the void. I have another question, but I feel a little silly asking.
"It… it wasn’t because of me, was it?"
He stalls for a second. "No, Natalia… it wasn’t because of you," then he steps out, grabbing a towel off the towel rack. "The rest of the shower is yours. Be good today."
