Page 81 of River & Rue

Bracing my hands on the tile, I drop my head to let the hot water pound on my neck and shoulders. The tension in my body slowly starts to unwind.

Then the water turns freezing cold.

An inhuman screech rips from my throat. I punch the dial to shut off the flow and reach for my towel, only to freeze when I register what I’m hearing.

The shower next door.

I pound my fist on the tile. “What the actual fuck!”

River’s laughing voice floats through the wall. “Sorry. From over here, it sounded like you’d finished.”

White noise fills my ears.

I stop breathing.

“You didn’t swallow your tongue, did you?”

The fog in my head burns off, taking all my doubts and guilt and fears with it. What’s left is a singular objective. I’m not leaving this planet without seeing River Ashburn naked at least once.

I grab my towel and start drying off with rapid strokes.

“Rue?”

His voice is softer. Uncertain.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Or said that. I… I’m sorry.”

There’s a thud, then a muttered curse.

The steam in my mirror has cleared enough for me to see the slight smile on my face. The smile stays as I towel dry my hair and twist it into a loose bun on the top of my head. It stays as I brush my teeth, swipe on deodorant, and throw on loose sleep shorts and a T-shirt.

When his shower turns off, I walk out my front door and across the porch. His door is unlocked. I let myself in and close it behind me.

River appears in his bedroom doorway with wide eyes, an open mouth, and a towel held around his waist. Wet hair drips down his chest.

“I’m sor⁠—”

“Save it.”

As I get closer, his expression changes. There’s wariness. Tension. His eyes flicker down, note my lack of bra, and rise with a hint of panic. When I’m a few feet away, he backpedals like I’m a predator planning to eat him.

Cute—also correct.

“Rue? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Great, even. Why?”

His calves meet the bed. “Your smile is scary. I don’t know if you’re here to murder me or⁠—”

I shove his chest with both hands. He makes a satisfying “Oof” as his butt hits the mattress.

I pat his head. “Good boy. Stay.”

Veering around the bed, I grab one of his pillows, then return and drop it at his feet. The hand gripping his towel flexes, knuckles bleaching.

“What are you doing?”

The barely veiled ferocity in his voice gives me the final piece of courage I need to embrace the mother of all fuck-it moments.