So, yes, I did want to have lunch with June and her friends. My contract with the Roasters lasted until October, so it’d be nice to meet some new people. Maybe even make some new friends.
Who am I kidding? It would be nice to make any.
“That sounds great,” I told her.
“I’ll meet you here and we can walk over together.”
After we said our goodbyes, I changed into my practically indecent bathrobe and grabbed my shower caddy. Not since my sorority days had I used a communal shower, and even then, it’d been with eighteen- and nineteen-year-old girls. And yet, here I was, a twenty-seven-year-old woman, dressed in nothing but a hot-pink bathrobe covered in adorable piglets, preparing to takemy first public shower. Outdoors. In February. But what other choice did I have?
Rose City had no hotels. No motels, no hostels, not even an Airbnb. No, the only option for nearly forty miles was Bed of Roses, and since I’d be working in Rose City, it only made sense to stay here. Which meant it was time to pull up my (metaphorical) big-girl pants, pull down my robe before . . . bits started to show, and take on the outdoor, all-gender shower.
I could do this.
Thankfully, the chances of running into anybody were nil. It was still fairly early, especially for a Sunday, and I had yet to see any of my neighbors emerge from their houses before ten a.m. June would be busy cleaning for new visitors, so that only left the elusive Mr. Moira.
Probably still sleeping.
I nudged the door open, enough to peek outside but not enough to let in the brisk air. I was a Southern girl. By nature, we did not do well in colder climates. After checking to see if the coast was clear, I slipped out the door and made a mad dash for the showers. Thankfully, I didn’t have far to go. That didn’t stop me from muttering a long line of curses as I trudged through the cold, down the grassy hill and across the gravel path. It didn’t help that the last time I’d worn this robe was in college, when I’d been a size or two (or four) smaller. Certain areas had filled out (and then some) since then.
“You could stand to lose a little weight, darling.”
But despite what certain people—my mother, my ex-fiancé,Peoplemagazine—had said, I loved my curves. What I did not love were the icicles trying to take up residence in my nether regions.
I threw open the door to the first shower stall, practically knocking the dang thing off its hinges, and made a beeline for the hot water nozzle. “Please, please, please . . . ,” I begged,cranking the shaft as far left as it would go. Modesty be damned, I removed my robe and tossed it over the wall dividing the stalls. I was committed now. It was either a shower or hypothermia.
Warm water trickled out of the nozzle. A few seconds later, a geyser erupted from the holes above, drenching my hair and scalding my naked body in the best way possible. So much so I did what anybody who hadn’t had a shower in three days (er, maybe four) would do.
I moaned.
“Oh,gawd,” I cried, closing my eyes and letting the water rush over my face. “Sooogood.”
“I can come back later, if you want?” a deep, gravelly voice asked from the shadows.
I screamed and then immediately regretted my reaction as soon as my mouth filled up with water.
Death by communal shower. What a way to go.
Soren
Great job, fuckhead. You drowned the woman.
The incredibly sexy, incredibly naked woman.
So much for lying low and avoiding trouble.
I turned my attention to a nonexistent plane in the sky. Maybe if I stared long and hard enough—shit, don’t say “hard”—I’d lose sight of the rosy-colored nipples burned across my retinas.
“Are you alright?” I called out across the barrier between us. Her chaotic sputtering drowned out the sound of the still-running shower.
“Are you crazy?” she choked. “You can’t just sneak up on a woman while she’s showering.”
“I wasn’t exactly sneaking. It’s communal.” I kept my gaze averted. From my peripheral vision, I could tell she was rustling with some kind of fabric, a towel or robe maybe. “Besides, I didn’t realize you were having a . . . private moment.”
“Now wait just a minute.” She huffed, her voice full of irritation. I tried to suppress a grin.
I waited until the shower faucet squeaked to a halt before turning toward her. I looked down and came face-to-face—well, more like head to chin—with the most stunning woman I had ever laid eyes on. Even half-showered, blonde hair askew, and nipples now (sadly) tucked away behind a ridiculous robe decked out in cartoon pigs, this woman was a sight to behold. Judging by her furrowed brow, it was safe to say the feeling wasn’t mutual.
“I was not—” She stopped. “That is, I was just excited.”
