I raise a brow. “Really?”
“Yep. Brian and I renovated the whole house, bathrooms, kitchen, and flooring. It’s what Brian does… he could whip up a bathroom in his sleep.”
I think about Marilyn’s and Brian’s house. It is the envy of all who enter it, straight out of a decorating magazine. “Well, you are two hours away,” I point out. “Kind of a long drive for a bath.”
“Not worth the trouble?” he says with a playful grin.
I shake my head. “Not really. Do you know how much gasoline costs these days?”
“How ‘bout a bath and a fuck then,” he teases. “Would that be worth it?”
I laugh. “Well, now you’re talking. Definitely…” I imagine myself making the trek to my hometown every weekend, enjoying Blake’s bathtub, and his bed too.
He hops off the edge of the bathtub. “Where do you keep your razors?”
I lay my head back down on the slanted smooth tub. “In the cupboard, under the sink.”
Blake comes back with shaving cream and a razor in hand. I smile up at him as I raise my hairy leg, and settle my foot on the edge of the tub. He takes a seat again, and very carefully, he applies the shaving cream down my leg, rubbing softly in long slow motions. I stare up at him, lost in every inch of him; the angle of his jaw, his long dark lashes, the strands of thick dark hair tickling the collar of his shirt, the smooth curves of his shoulders and pecks, visible through the fabric of his shirt, and those sensual lips of his, the color of red roses. He’s always been beautiful, even when he was a bratty kid, but never more than he is now. I don’t want to touch. I just want to take him in with my eyes, mark him to memory.
Where is our story going? Are we friends again? Could we be more? Does Blake even have that in him? Am I ready for that? When I try to envision this scenario, my brain gets fuzzy. I throw my head back. Just enjoy the moment. Don’t overthink it. Enjoy his touch.
He’s very careful with the razor as he glides it down my leg. “How ‘bout I paint your toe nails after?”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. I wonder if this is a scenario he’s lived before. “Do you do this often?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “You seem very good at it.”
He smiles at me. “First time,” he says. “Believe it or not.”
“I’m surprised,” I say. “I know you’re quite the Casanova.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t always believe everything you hear, Freckles.”
“Well, according to Mandy, you’re out with a different woman every single weekend.”
He dips the razor in the water and shakes it, and goes right back to work. “Well, I think she might be exaggerating a bit. There are only so many women in Westbrooke.”
I laugh. “And you’ve been through them all.”
His smile fades and he focuses on the razor on my leg. “Is that really what you think of me?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what to think, honestly.”
“Yeah, I’ve had a few girlfriends,” he admits, “but none of them have ever worked out.”
“Why not?” I know I’m being very nosy and rude, but I can’t help myself. I want to know. “What happened?”
His gaze lingers on mine for a few seconds, then it travels down the length of my body, and finally settles at the window looking out to the city skyline, and the dancing lights in the night. “None of them were you,” he finally says, his words barely a whisper.
He’s not smiling, not teasing, not flirting or feeding me a line. He turns back to me, and shoots me a soft smile. “So what do you think?” he asks. “Good job?”
I’m still reeling from his words. It takes me a few seconds to get back to the moment, and realize he’s talking about my leg, stretched across the bathtub, smooth and shiny. It looks much better than my left one, still hairy and unsightly.
“Perfect job,” I cheer, stretching out my hairy leg. “Now do the other one.”
He winces and pulls a face. “I should get paid for this,” he jokes. “I mean, look at that thing. I think I deserve some kind of compensation.”
I laugh. “Oh, you’ll get yours soon enough,” I promise.
