Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,52
at this point, as long as I don’t directly scrub at the incisions.”
Tate’s eyes fall to my midsection. “Oh.”
This is new. We’re bickering, but not because we’re mad or frustrated with each other. Because Tate cares about me. Emotion hits the center of my chest. He’s living out the text he sent last night, the one I read over and over until I fell asleep, phone in hand.
“Do you want to help me?” I ask, my voice soft.
He nods, then stops himself. “I won’t try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I don’t doubt his words or the tender expression on his face, the way his eyes plead when they look at me.
“You said that when we slept in the hospital bed too.” His gentle tone conveys the same care and sweetness from that day. It makes me wish I were one hundred percent recovered so I could jump him.
“Whatever you need to make this more comfortable, tell me. I just want you safe.”
Safe. Never before has that word make me tingle.
As much as I want him here with me, I don’t want him to see me in my birthday suit. “You can’t see me naked.”
“Of course not. That’s not why I— I wasn’t even thinking . . .” His red face pulls into a grimace, something in the realm of shocked and nervous.
I wink at him. “Here.” I hand him the hot-pink sleeping mask I’ve been wearing while napping on the couch. “Wear this. Sit on the toilet lid. I’m going to pull the shower curtain so it closes off the back half of the tub, so you can’t see anything. If you hear me scream, cry, or shout for help, take off the mask and help me. Otherwise, if all you hear are normal splashing noises, just sit there until I say I’m done. Sound good?”
His toned chest heaves with a single breath. And then there’s a small smile. “Got it.”
He waits in the living room while I undress in the bathroom, only a rickety wooden door separating us. The hot water laps at my lower half when I settle in. I moan. It’s heaven on my roughed-up body. The water level barely hits my hips, which is perfect because according to the pamphlet I’m not supposed to let the incisions sit in stagnant water for long periods of time. After another few seconds, I pull the shower curtain forward until it covers half the tub and prop up on my knees. Using my hands as cups, I splash the water across my stomach.
“You can come in now.”
The bathroom door squeaks open. Tate’s soft footsteps make my heart pound. There’s a loud thud, then an “oof” sound from Tate.
I stick my head around the curtain. He stumbles backward from the sink, rendered blind by my hot-pink eye mask.
“What are you doing?”
He bumps ass-first into the towel rack and groans. “Crap.”
I swallow back a laugh. “I meant for you to put it on after you came in.”
He faces me. “Oh. I guess that makes more sense.”
“Here, just take the mask off and sit down. I’m already in the back of the tub behind the curtain. You can’t see me anyway.”
Through the white of the curtain, I observe his shadowy silhouette sit down.
“Mask is on,” he says.
We’re maybe four inches apart, sitting side by side, only an opaque sheet of plastic separating my naked body from Tate’s clothed one. A deep breath centers me, and I let out a soft moan. Tate clears his throat.
I splash some more until my entire body is soaked, then lather soap into my hands. Soon I’m covered in pineapple-scented body wash. I breathe in, eyes closed, and for a minute I’m back on the beach. My wet skin pebbles, and I open my eyes. No. This is even better. I’m bathing next to my coworker. My coworker who I used to loathe. My coworker who I most definitely don’t loathe anymore. Nerves are certainly present, but so is anticipation and joy. A strange, yet wonderful cocktail of emotions.
“Doing okay?” he says.
“Yep.” I slide back on my bottom and lie down in the tub so I can wet my hair. Slowly, I prop myself back up into a kneeling position and lather shampoo through it. “I feel so naughty.”
The second the last words leave my lips, I bury my face in my hands and groan.
Tate’s soft chuckle floats past the curtain. “How so?”
“Sorry, I mean that it feels naughty to take a bath. They’re pretty