With no remorse whatsoever, I reply, “Yes, I did. Let’s go.”
Shouldering the door open, I pull Colette in behind me. We’re greeted by a young woman at the front desk which immediately puts Cole on high alert. “I thought you said there wasn’t anyone here.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Okay, so there are a few people here, but no other patrons. I rented the space out for the day.”
“You… You rented the entire bathhouse out?”
Before I can answer, the receptionist—Marcy, according to her nametag—whispers in that way they do at spas, “Mr. and Mrs. Bardot, lovely to have you join us at Bay State Bathhouse today.”
“Russell,” Cole corrects, turning toward me. “If—and that’s abigif, like the fate of the world depends on our reluctant nuptials kind ofif—we get married, we’re taking my last name.”
“We can make up an entirely new last name if that’s what you want, Red. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” she mutters.
“Right,” Marcy continues. “Changing rooms are just this way.” She gestures to two doors that blend fairly seamlessly into the wood paneled wall at the back of the reception area. “You may undress to your comfort level. There are robes and slippers provided. Once you’re done, you may exit from the only other door and make your way into the relaxation room.”
Leaning toward Cole, I whisper, “My comfort level is completely naked, but if you need to wear your swimsuit that’s an option.” There’s a challenge in my tone, and I can’t wait to see if Cole rises to the bait.
Marcy raises her pointer finger in the air, stopping me before I can walk into the locker room. “Ah, I apologize, Mr. Bardot.”
“Russell,” I correct, winking at Cole who rewards me with an eye roll.
“Right,” Marcy whispers, her smile strained. “Mr. Russell. Dress to your comfort level includes a swimsuit in the baths. Fully nude areas include the saunas and the gender specific locker rooms.”
“I see, thank you for the clarification, Marcy. See you on the other side, Red,” I call over my shoulder, disappearing into the changing room.
Cole makes me wait in the relaxation room, because of course she does. This woman does nothing but build my anticipation in any scenario we’re involved in. I left my phone in the changing room, but the longer she takes, the more I’m worried that she broke into the men’s changing room and stole the car keys, leaving me stranded at a bathhouse in the middle of Massachusetts.
I wouldn’t put it past her.
The relaxation room is nice… It would be incredibly relaxing if I wasn’t anxious about the fact that Cole still hasn’t joined me. Tightening my robe around my waist, I sit down on one of the plush loungers before immediately popping back up when a door opens. It’s just Marcy though, with a tray full of tea service.
“Mr. Russell,” she whispers, adapting quickly to Cole’s earlier correction. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh. I—Sure.” I tap my fingers against my thigh as Marcy sets the tray down on a nearby table, flips one cup over, and starts pouring. “Did… Did Mrs. Russell?—”
I’m saved from completely embarrassing myself when Cole finally enters from the door to her changing room.
My favorite long ponytail sits on the top of her head, red strands cascading over her robed shoulders. The fluffy white robe, with the Bay State Bathhouse logo embroidered onto the pocket, is snug around her waist. I can’t tell if she has her bikini on underneath or if she’s chosen to forgo any item of clothing so we can head straight to the sauna.
Honestly, either option has me already sporting a semi. Not something that will be easy to hide here in a minute.
“Mrs. Russell, welcome,” Marcy mutters. “Would you also like some tea?”
“No, thank you, Marcy.”
Marcy’s thin-lipped smile tells me she disapproves of Cole’s choice, but she doesn’t say anything else as she hands me a cup of steaming tea and quietly slides out of the room.
Inching closer to Cole, I admire the freckles across the bridge of her nose. “She’s a little creepy, no?”
The corner of Cole’s mouth tips up. “Yeah, I’m a little worried we are involved in some sort of intricate murder plot.”
“You watch too muchDateline.”
Her shoulder lifts and falls as she says, “Probably. It’s my hyperfixation.”
“What makes you think we’ll be murdered, though?”
