He’s dressed in one of his many chest-hugging gray T-shirts and a pair of dark denim jeans. The only thing that stands out about his outfit is the black Rolex on his wrist. He always does that. At first glance, you’d guess his clothing came off the rack from any local mall and then—surprise! He’s wearing an $11,000 watch or a $500 pair of sunglasses, and you’ll know otherwise.
It’s not the same clothing he picked out earlier. I’m surprised; he’s usually very decisive when he chooses things. He’s never been one to second-guess himself. Since I’ve known him, he’s always been very particular and exactly sure of what he wants. So I’m curious as to why he’s changed clothes. I grab my sponge and dip it in the water before I run it up my leg. I know he’s there. He knows I know he’s there, but I have no reason to address him.
He walks toward the sink, and I can’t help but think how good his hair looks since he’s grown it out—that fresh-out-of-bed-look.
He takes off his watch, making me wonder why. He then opens up the stereo control above our sink and presses the “scan” button, changing the radio station I had it on. I roll my eyes. I’m not going to do this with him. My first instinct is to change it back, but I came in here to relax, and I won’t let him interrupt my attempted moment of peace.
“How do you listen to this crap?” he asks, shaking his head in disgust. He finally finds a station he’s happy with and closes the stereo control back up.
I open my mouth to insult his choice, but I like the song. I have to admit, I’ve stolen his iPod more than a couple of times. His musical choices have exposed me to songs I’d probably never have discovered had I not known him. He’s not into pop at all; his favorite genres range from alternative to R&B, with classic rock dominating.
I’m so lost in the song that I don’t realize he’s now beside me, squatting near the side of the tub so we’re close to eye level. I try to play off my surprise as he smiles at me knowingly. The shirt he’s wearing highlights those gray eyes of his.
Ignoring him would be a lot easier if he had a beer belly, bad breath, or an ugly scar. I look away from him, continuing to busy myself with my soap sponge. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I won’t give him my full attention. Unfortunately, he knows he has it, and he’ll make sure I know he knows.
He grabs the remote and turns down the radio. I still don’t look his way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile play on his lips. He walks behind the tub and starts to caress the back of my neck. I bite my upper lip to keep from moaning, it feels so good. I curse him silently for knowing each and every sensitive spot on my body. With his one touch, my hormones drown out my anger, stubbornness, and better judgment. I feel his hands start to slide down my shoulders as he massages them. I try to maintain my aloofness, continuing to wash myself. I don’t know if it’s helping or making this situation worse. I know he either wants something or is going to tell me something that’s going to really piss me off.
“What do you want, Cal?” My question comes out as a whisper, which is not what I intended. I feel his lips on my shoulders, making their way up my neck.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers in my ear before his tongue makes its way inside it.
This time I can’t help but let a small gasp escape. I try to wiggle my way out of his grasp. I don’t want to let him have the satisfaction of doing this to me, but one of his arms crosses beneath my breasts, holding me in place while his other hand makes its way past my belly button, slowly trailing downward.
“Cal, leave me… s-s—” I’m unable to finish my incoherent sentence as one of his fingers slips inside me, finding a place only he’s been able to discover.
I freeze as his fingers start to work their magic on the two most sensitive places on my body. I draw my legs up, my previous defensiveness disappearing as I close my eyes and lean back, giving him complete control to finish his intended task.
“What were you saying?” His voice is low and husky.
I want to scratch his eyes out, but I settle for digging my fingers deep into his shoulder as I feel myself going over the edge. It has little effect on him as his rhythm speeds up. I start to fidget, unable to control my panting, and I feel it coming on. As bad as I want it, I wish it wouldn’t.
“You started that little show out there,” he continues in between sucking the back of my neck. “But I just wanted you to know…”
I hear his voice, and I want to slap his patronizing ass, but a moment later, everything in me rises and releases, and I involuntarily let his name slip past my lips. Moments later, my body is coming down in ripples, and for that instant, I just enjoy bliss.
“I’m the finale.” He snickers, and it wakes me out of my moment of ecstasy.
I push him away from me, irritated at the satisfied grin on his face.
“What, no thank you?” he asks condescendingly.
I make my way out of the tub, dripping wet in more ways than one. As I grab my robe off the counter, I see what’s lying next to it and get a wicked idea.
“Lauren, don’t do it.” His eyes widen, reading my thoughts, and before he can reach me, I grab his watch and throw it into the water.
“Fuck!” he yells and races toward the water. But it’s too late. “That was really fucking evil, Lauren!” He holds up his watch helplessly.
I try to keep myself from laughing.
“Why the hell did you do that?” he shouts. His brow furrows and his skin turns a shade of red.
I shake off the thought of how good he looks. “Because you’re a condescending asshole, that’s why!” My voice matches the volume of his. He thinks he can do and say whatever he wants with no consequences.
He shakes his head incredulously then leaves the room, slamming the door. I smile to myself, but there’s a twinge of guilt somewhere inside me. He’s being such a baby—but the guilt is still there.
I let out a much-needed breath and let the tub water out. I quickly dry myself off and slip on my underwear and robe. I walk to the mirror, letting my hair down.
Cal buys expensive things, but he isn’t frivolous. He takes great care of everything he owns. From his most expensive car to his least expensive shirt, he treats all of them the same. I hate feeling guilty or sorry. I know he doesn’t most of the time. Yet maybe I did go overboard today.
I grab my sweater to put it on, but give in to my conscience. If I’m going to apologize and get him to accept it, the fewer clothes I have on, the better. I peek in the bedroom and see that he’s on the phone; he’s changing into the gray button-up and black slacks from earlier. I see his travel bag and cringe; I really want to burn that thing. Even though I’m upset with him, there’s still a sinking feeling in my stomach that he’s leaving.
“What time is he going to be there?” he asks.
“Around seven thirty. That’s two hours, your time,” a voice booms through the speaker.
“I’ll call you when I’m there,” Cal answers. He sits on the bed and begins putting on his shoes.
I sit beside him quietly, trying to sense how mad he is at me. “The watch was waterproof, wasn’t it?” I tell him dryly, trying to cover up my sincerity.
“Would it matter to you if it wasn’t?” he asks, surveying my outfit—or lack thereof. I love how he asks me a question and disregards mine.