“Three years and the only reason you came to see me was because you needed a shower, idiot?”
I shrug. I close my eyes, letting the water wash over my face.
“You left the window open,” I say. He doesn’t reply.
When I turn around to face him, his hands are tucked in his pockets, his face tilted down, half-hidden in the shadow. He looks at me with quiet, dark eyes. I can feel my body tingle under his intense gaze, a shiver running down my abdomen and to my cock.
His eyes flicker down for the briefest of moments.
“You left the window open,” I repeat. It sounds almost like an accusation.
“That didn’t mean you had to come in. I didn’t put any sign saying Idiots welcome, let yourself in,” he retorts. I can glimpse the flash of a smile on his lips, but it disappears too quickly.
I can feel the memories stir in the back of my mind. His smile always made my blood pump faster. I can feel my face heating, and I hope the shadow is enough to hide it. “Maybe I was feeling nostalgic.”
“Right.” He unclips the holster and pulls out his gun, checking the safety before reaching to lay it on the sink. My knife is just out of sight, on the rim of the tub. It’s never out of my reach. I don’t move my hand toward it, don’t even look in its direction. I know I won’t need to use it.
His voice is tight when he says, “What are you doing here, really?”
It’s the city, that’s what it is, messing with my head. My nerves are rubbed raw.
“I don’t know,” I snap, harsh. “I’m just having a damn shower. Leave me alone. What do you even want?”
His arm shoots out, and he grabs me by the nape, hand clenching in my hair a fraction too hard. The water is quickly soaking his sleeve, staining it dark, spraying on his chest, his face. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“I want you to get out of here,” he says, voice dangerously low. “I want you to leave. I want to never see your face again.”
I wonder if he’s aware of how tightly he’s holding onto me. I wonder if he realizes that, while he’s telling me to go, his body is screaming don’t you dare move. I wonder if he even knows he wants me to stay.
His eyes are a sharp blue, mere inches from mine. Too close. They give away things I suspect he’d rather keep hidden.
Slowly, I reach to wrap my fingers around his tie. I pull him forward, pull him in. He has to brace his hand against the tiles in order not to fall, leaning awkwardly over the tub, the water now streaming down his face, soaking his shoulders.
I can see the anger fade from his eyes, washed away, leaving only a too-heavy weariness.
He doesn’t pull back when I lean forward and press my mouth to his. I trace his lips with my tongue, let it slip inside. I feel damn near intoxicated when he gives in to the kiss, tilting his head to the side to gain better access to my mouth as his tongue tangles with mine, sliding hot and wet between my lips. He tastes like apples and regret and wasted time.