“Actually, no. Sorry.”
Awkward.
He goes into the kitchen, and I hear him filling Niko’s bowl with food. I’m starving, too. I wonder if he’s still going to feed me even though I’ve insulted him. What I really want is a shower, though.
“Storm... Can I take a shower?
“Yeah. Let me get you some clothes to wear.” He disappears back down the hallway and comes back a few minutes later with black sweatpants and a fleece hoodie. “This stuff will be huge on you, but it’s all clean. The bathroom is the first door on the left, just help yourself to whatever—there are new soaps and shampoos under the sink, and I think there’s a hair dryer in there, too. Oh, and there are some new toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet. Just take one.”
“Thank you. Are the phones working?”
“No, I tried the landline in the bedroom and it’s dead. It happens a lot up here. Write Michael’s number down and I’ll give it to John in case he comes while you’re in the shower.”
“Oh, good idea. Thanks.” I rummage in my purse and find a pen and a piece of paper, scribble Mike’s number on it, and hand it to him.
“I’m going to make some dinner while you’re showering. You like pasta? It’s pretty much all I’ve got since everything else we either ate in the truck or it’s still in the truck.”
“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”
I almost scream when I get in the bathroom and see myself in the mirror. I look like a total mess. My makeup is smeared, my cheeks are red and blotchy, my hair looks like a bat got stuck in it and flapped its wings for an hour. Holy hell, I can’t believe I was trapped in a truck with a man for two days looking so hideous. And what’s unfair is Storm’s hair and his damn guyliner looked perfect the entire time! Ugh!!
Oh, and, by the way, this bathroom is enormous with a huge corner glass shower with like ten showerheads and a big Jacuzzi tub in the other corner. I rummage around under the sink and find vanilla scented body wash and some expensive shampoo. Apparently, Storm likes the finer things in life, which is odd for someone who builds motorcycles for a living. Of course, the chick in me has my radar up for any signs of female cohabitants, but I see no signs of female life in this bathroom. No lipstick, no stray tampons, no pink towels. Weird.
I take the longest, hottest shower ever and lather myself up with this luxurious body wash. The shampoo and conditioner smell heavenly. I’ve never been in a shower with so many shower heads, but it’s really amazing, like being rained on from all angles. I wonder why all showers aren’t designed this way.
After what feels like an embarrassingly long time to be in someone’s shower, I relent and get out. I wrap myself in a big fluffy bath towel. Storm’s bathroom is like a five star hotel.
My hair looks amazing after I dry it and now I know his secret to fab hair—it’s from this hair product that has a French name I can’t even pronounce. If this actually were a hotel, I would so steal this stuff. It figures I’m having the best hair day I’ve ever had, and now I don’t even have any makeup because all my stuff is back in the truck. Unless John, the plow guy, came back, but I really don’t want to poke my head out there and ask for my bag. Grrrr. I grab my purse and pull out a tiny eyeliner I keep in there for emergency touch-ups and put on a tiny bit of lip gloss. I don’t want to look like total death in front of Storm. Not that it matters, but I don’t want him to go from thinking I’m cute to thinking I’m scary.
A loud knocking on the door makes me jump as I’m pulling the hoodie over my head.
“Dinner’s ready. Are you coming out or what?” he says through the door.
I open the door. “It’s about time,” he says. “You weren’t in there treating my shower like a playground, were you?”
I smack him in the chest. “No, perv. It just felt good to be warm.”