and with my mouth watering, I reached out to grab a slice...and stopped, appalled at the filth on my hand. Rings of dirt scored under my fingernails, and my tan was ringed with grime from living on the beach. Suddenly, I felt filthy as hell, and wiped my hand on my equally gritty shirt. Ugh.
Dean moved behind me, and his hand touched my shoulder. “Abby, I think we need to talk.” His voice was serious and low, and distinctly not what I wanted to hear at the moment.
No, no. “I don’t want to talk right now,” I said, trying to brush past him. I didn’t want to ruin the lovely mountain of food or the showers or anything with an argument or complaining about my lack of strategy. I just wanted to enjoy an evening of luxury.
“We need to talk,” Dean insisted, following me as I pushed past him.
“I’m going to shower first,” I said, not looking at him as I moved into the bedroom, scooped up the robe, and then crossed to the bathroom. “You’re welcome to talk to me in there, but I’m filthy and I’m going to clean up before I touch any of that lovely food.”
To my relief, he didn’t follow me into the bathroom. I stepped into one of the stalls, the door swinging behind me, and began to strip out of my clothing. I didn’t care if it got wet – hell, it needed to be cleaned worse than I did. I stepped out of the last of my bikini and tossed it in the corner of the shower, then turned the water on.
It blasted on my skin, hot and wet and just about the best thing ever. I gave a shuddery moan of delight and wet down my hair, leaning into the spray with intensity. God, it felt so amazing. Who would have thought a warm shower could feel so blissful after two weeks of no showers? I grabbed one of the small bottles of shampoo lining the wall and shampooed my thick, curly hair. Twice. The scent was coconut – something I was a little tired of – but I didn’t care. It felt heavenly to get clean.
A round, lumpy sponge had been left for me, and I squirted it with body wash, frantically rubbing down my body. As I did, I heard the shower next to me turn on, and glanced over the swinging doors. Dean was in the other shower, and I could just make out his shoulders and hair as he soaped up. “Decided to shower?” I called out.
He slicked the water away from his face and glanced at me over the flimsy shower door. “Thought I’d wait for you.”
I nodded and turned back to my frantic body scrubbing. Part of me supposed that I should have been weirded out by sharing a shower with a stranger, but Dean felt like anything but a stranger. Living together on a beach for two weeks had certainly stripped that aspect out of our relationship, and I figured he could see flashes of my naked body in the shower, and I pretty much didn’t care. Though, if I had to admit it, I was curious to see him without his trunks.
I blushed at the thought and chided myself for it. We had to work together – professionally – at least until the tribes merged. I couldn’t be sitting here, wondering how big his equipment was. We were friends. Theoretically. He might be mad at me for screwing his chances, and I might have been thinking about his package, but we were friends before today, and hopefully we would be again after the initial shockwaves settled down.
“So why did you pick me?” Dean said loudly, speaking over the water.
What was the best answer here? “Because they expected me not to,” I called back.
“Trying to prove everyone wrong again, eh?”
I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice if he thought I was being funny, or what, so I said nothing, swiping the sponge over my neck and the tops of my shoulders. I couldn’t quite reach my back, and it was bothering me.
“Abby?” Dean stepped forward, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was standing near the swinging doors, but his eyes were averted, not looking at my naked (and very vulnerable) body. For some reason, I found that...sweet. My heart melted. Even
Dean moved behind me, and his hand touched my shoulder. “Abby, I think we need to talk.” His voice was serious and low, and distinctly not what I wanted to hear at the moment.
No, no. “I don’t want to talk right now,” I said, trying to brush past him. I didn’t want to ruin the lovely mountain of food or the showers or anything with an argument or complaining about my lack of strategy. I just wanted to enjoy an evening of luxury.
“We need to talk,” Dean insisted, following me as I pushed past him.
“I’m going to shower first,” I said, not looking at him as I moved into the bedroom, scooped up the robe, and then crossed to the bathroom. “You’re welcome to talk to me in there, but I’m filthy and I’m going to clean up before I touch any of that lovely food.”
To my relief, he didn’t follow me into the bathroom. I stepped into one of the stalls, the door swinging behind me, and began to strip out of my clothing. I didn’t care if it got wet – hell, it needed to be cleaned worse than I did. I stepped out of the last of my bikini and tossed it in the corner of the shower, then turned the water on.
It blasted on my skin, hot and wet and just about the best thing ever. I gave a shuddery moan of delight and wet down my hair, leaning into the spray with intensity. God, it felt so amazing. Who would have thought a warm shower could feel so blissful after two weeks of no showers? I grabbed one of the small bottles of shampoo lining the wall and shampooed my thick, curly hair. Twice. The scent was coconut – something I was a little tired of – but I didn’t care. It felt heavenly to get clean.
A round, lumpy sponge had been left for me, and I squirted it with body wash, frantically rubbing down my body. As I did, I heard the shower next to me turn on, and glanced over the swinging doors. Dean was in the other shower, and I could just make out his shoulders and hair as he soaped up. “Decided to shower?” I called out.
He slicked the water away from his face and glanced at me over the flimsy shower door. “Thought I’d wait for you.”
I nodded and turned back to my frantic body scrubbing. Part of me supposed that I should have been weirded out by sharing a shower with a stranger, but Dean felt like anything but a stranger. Living together on a beach for two weeks had certainly stripped that aspect out of our relationship, and I figured he could see flashes of my naked body in the shower, and I pretty much didn’t care. Though, if I had to admit it, I was curious to see him without his trunks.
I blushed at the thought and chided myself for it. We had to work together – professionally – at least until the tribes merged. I couldn’t be sitting here, wondering how big his equipment was. We were friends. Theoretically. He might be mad at me for screwing his chances, and I might have been thinking about his package, but we were friends before today, and hopefully we would be again after the initial shockwaves settled down.
“So why did you pick me?” Dean said loudly, speaking over the water.
What was the best answer here? “Because they expected me not to,” I called back.
“Trying to prove everyone wrong again, eh?”
I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice if he thought I was being funny, or what, so I said nothing, swiping the sponge over my neck and the tops of my shoulders. I couldn’t quite reach my back, and it was bothering me.
“Abby?” Dean stepped forward, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was standing near the swinging doors, but his eyes were averted, not looking at my naked (and very vulnerable) body. For some reason, I found that...sweet. My heart melted. Even
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