Chapter 3
Gavin:
It was a long day, first a long day of reviewing course material and planning lectures for the three Anthropology classes I’ll be student-teaching this semester; then I had my shift at the gym where I work part time. Geoff, the evening trainer, and technically my boss, never showed, and I had to cover his evening appointments. By the time I finish the last one at 10 p.m., I’ve been working, in some capacity, for fifteen hours, training clients for a total of seven of those hours, and awake since 5 a.m. After cleanup and closing paperwork, without the help of the evening manager, I don’t get home and shuffle through the apartment door until after eleven. I’m not looking forward to keeping this crazy schedule for the rest of the semester—and I’m sorry for Peterson and his sick wife—but getting to teach these classes is a huge boon for my future career as a professor of Anthropology. I’ll be able to demonstrate my teaching ability before I’ve even finished my thesis work and earned my PhD.
Right now, though, I want nothing more than to shower, crawl into bed, and stay there for the next two days, which luckily, I have off. I don’t even bother to take my gym bag to my room. I drop it in the entryway, kick off my shoes, shuck my T-shirt, and head straight for the hall bathroom. I’m not even worried about a change of clothes. My towel is in there, and that’s all the cover I need after my shower to get to my room. It’s not like I live with chicks. It’s just Rob.
And his cousin, apparently, for the next few weeks. What did Rob say his name was? Sam? Hopefully, this Sam won’t be bothered by me walking from the bathroom to my bedroom down the hall in just a towel when I finish my shower. And if he is, well that’s his problem. I’m way too tired to give a shit. Besides, I live here, and he doesn’t.
The bathroom door is shut when I get to it, and I almost run face-first into it. “What the hell?” I mutter. The bathroom door is never shut. I’m usually the only one who uses it—Rob’s got his own bathroom attached to his room—and I’m not the shut-the-door-when-not-in-use type.
And then it occurs to me, Rob’s cousin might be in there. There’s no light coming from the crack under the door, but what do I know? Maybe the guy shits in the dark. I raise my hand and give a soft rap on the door.
Nothing.
I try again, a little harder but still soft enough to not wake anyone who might be sleeping in other parts of the apartment. There’s still no answer. I guess I’m in the clear.
I reach for the handle and push the door open.
It only takes a moment for me to realize, the bathroom isn’t completely dark. There are approximately a million candles laid out across the countertop, the back of the toilet, the sides of the tub.
And the tub isn’t empty.
It’s filled with water and soapy bubbles. Bubbles that float around a woman. She’s soaking in the bubble bath, with her head tilted back against the tile wall, and earbuds in her ears.
Well, that explains why she didn’t hear me knock.
At first, I’m too shocked to move. My reflexes are slow after so many hours on my feet and working clients on a gym floor, and my brain is even slower. When I finally register that I’m staring at a naked woman, albeit a very beautiful naked woman, while she soaks in the tub unaware, I do my best to back out of the bathroom hastily. Even with the bubbles covering all the important parts, I’m not a creeper. When I check out a naked woman, she damn well knows I’m doing it and wants it to happen.
But I err in my trajectory and instead of backing up into the hallway through the still-open door, I end up slamming into the door frame. My head connects hard with the molding, and I curse.
The woman’s head rockets up, her eyes wide with shock, and she squeals in surprise. Her arms swing up out of the water to cover her breasts, and she stares at me in outrage.
“Were you watching me bathe? Are you some kind of weird sicko?”
“What? No! I just wanted to take a shower.” I throw my hands up in the air in a defensive gesture and stare up at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but at her. Then, I correct my aim and, successfully this time, manage to leave the room. “Also, this thing here, is called a lock,” I tell her as I reach back in, flick the lock on the knob, and close the door.
Then I go in search of Rob and his cousin. To find out who the hell this woman in my tub is.
Ten minutes later, I’m parked on the couch, beer in hand—and half gone—waiting for the woman to make her exit from the bathroom. I went to Rob’s room after I left her there, but he isn’t home. A quick search of the apartment proved this Sam fella isn’t here either. Did the two of them go out and leave this woman here? It’s not like some woman broke into our apartment to take a bath. But why would they just leave her here? Rob almost never brings girls home, and when he does, he’s quick to get rid of them as soon as he’s finished with them. Leaving them alone in the apartment is completely unlike him.
The waiting and the silence in the place gives my mind ample room to rerun the scene I walked in on just a few moments ago. It is, after all, not every day a guy finds a hot girl taking a bath in his tub. And, just in time to catch me thinking about all that creamy skin—the parts of it that weren’t covered by the bubbles—the woman herself rounds the corner where the living room meets the hallway and stands in front of me, all feminine outrage and soft curves.
She’s clothed now, in an oversized long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of shorts, but with her long brown hair up in a messy ponytail and those long, smooth legs bare from mid-thigh, she’s all comfort and home.
She looks familiar, but I can’t be sure if it’s just my brain’s reaction to seeing her naked or if I’m mistaking attraction to her for familiarity. Because I am damn attracted to her. Her face is free of makeup, but she doesn’t need any, with high cheekbones and big blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. She’s a far cry from the women I typically encounter, co-eds dressed to impress in their brand-names and gold paid for by Mommy and Daddy, or the gym bunnies who come in looking for a guy, with heavy makeup and workout clothes that have never seen a real workout. This woman is natural beauty. My dick stirs with interest, and I suddenly find myself hoping fervently that she’s not one of Rob’s conquests who’s still hanging around because she’s hung up on him.
“You must be the roommate,” she says and perches on the arm of the couch. She’s close enough that I can smell the scent of her shampoo—something girly and floral—but not so close that I can feel her body heat.
“Gavin.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat and take a swig of my beer, hoping she doesn’t notice my interest in her.
“Nice to meet you, Gavin. I’m Samantha.”
I manage to swallow my beer before I choke on it.
“Sam?” I rasp out.
“Yeah, Robby’s cousin. He called and asked you if I could stay here for a little while.” Now she’s talking to me like I’m an idiot who can’t remember a conversation I just had this afternoon.
“I remember the call,” I tell her, unable to keep my voice from matching her patronizing tone. “What I don’t remember is him telling me his cousin was a girl.”
“A girl?” Her tone is offended.
She must think I was calling her a child. “Yeah, a chick. A female. I woman.” I emphasize the last word, and even though I don’t mean the comment to be suggestive, the minute the words are out of my mouth, I realize that’s exactly how it sounded. But I don’t take it back.
“What, are you worried I’m going to cramp your style? Don’t worry, bro, I won’t get in the way of you bringing chicks home and getting some.”
Bro? Chicks? Obviously, this conversation is moving in a very productive direction. “I wasn’t worried.” Never mind the fact that me bringing women home is the last thing she has to worry about. I haven’t been with anyone in almost six months, not since Kyra left me. I’ve never been the casual lay type, not that Sam needs to know that. “How long are you planning to stay here?”
“I don’t know,” she hedges, “maybe a month?”
“I’m pretty sure Rob said a week or two on the phone this afternoon.” I narrow my gaze on her, almost smiling at the way she won’t meet my eyes when I say that.
“Well, if you knew, then why did you ask?”
“Seemed like a good question.” Because I had a feeling her answer was going to be different than what Rob had told me, and I was right. Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. And I’m suddenly aware of how gross I am from my shift at the gym, and she’s all clean and fresh. “I’m going to go take my shower now.” Without waiting for her to answer, I stand and head for the bathroom.
Leaving the living room isn’t the escape I hoped it would be though. The bathroom has that same floral sent I smelled on her, along with the scent of freshly snuffed vanilla candles, which she put out before leaving the bathroom but left lining the counter and tub. All I can think about the whole way through my shower is her, not how much my muscles ache, not how tired I am after such a long day. Just her. The sight of her in the tub, so relaxed and just barely covered by the bubbles. Her standing at the end of the couch looking down at me with her hands on her hips. The smell of her shampoo or body wash or whatever other girly frou-frou product she put on.
When I finish my shower and reach for my towel on the rack, it’s damp. I hold it to my nose and inhale, catching a lungful of that same enticing scent, roses or gardenia or some shit. She used my damn towel. As much as I want to be annoyed by that, my dick once again betrays me and twitches with interest.
This is going to be a long month.