Chapter 2
1690 Words
Chapter Two
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Skylar breezes into the bathroom, doing her hair as I sit in a tub that took literally twenty minutes to get into. Okay, a slight exaggeration, but with a broken arm, sitting in a bathtub is about as easy as wrestling a pig in a pile of tar.
The downside of her parents’ house is that there’s only one bathroom. Yep, who has one bathroom nowadays?
“You should buy your parents a house with two bathrooms.” I lean forward, pulling the shower curtain so that only my top half is exposed. Skylar has seen my d**k, but not in the way your dirty mind is thinking. Let’s just say, this isn’t our first time nursing the other one back to health. I’ve seen her t**s too. Well, some serious side boob anyway. But not her downstairs though, she’s always very skittish with that.
She stops moving the eyeliner pencil across her lid and balks at me. “Sure thing, right after I pay for grad school. Remember, bronze medal here.” She raises her hand. I hate the way she acts like bronze is runner-up for homecoming queen. I haven’t said so, but I have my suspicions that it’s part of the reason why grad school seems like such a great option for her right now.
“Bronze is killer,” I say, watching her in the mirror. She wears too much makeup. She’s prettiest when she’s out on the ski hill with flushed cheeks and no make-up on.
“Says the silver medalist.”
“Sky, you gotta give yourself a break. Look how many people went home with nothing.”
She rolls her eyes before applying her eyeshadow. More s**t to cover her girl-next-door face. I’m wasting my breath fighting her on this issue. I’ve been where she is during the last Classics when I didn’t medal at all. It sucks, but quit? No way. That isn’t me and it isn’t Skylar. She thinks she’ll be happier here, in Chicago without a mountain in sight, but I’m certain that’s not the case.
“Do you have any decent places to ski around here?”
“Not really. Wisconsin and Michigan have a few, but they’re not like the mountains.”
Maybe my geography isn’t that bad. I knew there were no mountains around.
“What are you going to do if you’re in grad school and the itch comes? Drive to Wisconsin and ski the bunny hill?”
Her eyeshadow case shuts and she leans her hip against the counter. “Stop trying to sway me.”
I raise the hand on my good arm out of the water. “I’m just helping you think every possible scenario through.”
She turns and starts applying another layer of crap she doesn’t need. She’s quiet for a minute and then says, “I’m going to come see you.”
“You make it sound like your decision is made already.”
“It’s not, Beck. I know you’re worried and you don’t want any space between us.” She stuffs all her makeup into a bag and sits on the toilet, looking at me intently. “Nothing will change between us, just the amount of physical distance.”
Distance changes everything.
She grabs the garbage bag I’m supposed to have on my arm, falling to her knees on the tile floor beside the tub and wrapping my arm. “You can’t get this wet. Why didn’t you put it on?”
“Kind of hard with one arm.” I shrug my good shoulder.
“That’s why I’m here. To help.”
She glances around for a rubber band, but that snapped two days ago, so she pulls her ponytail out, her hair falling over her shoulders like one of those shampoo commercials. My eyes stay trained on her hair, wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers through it, but that’s not happening.
I have a list of things I refuse to do because it only increases the chances of overstepping that delicate line between friendship and ending up with nothing at all.
“In that case, can I get a sponge bath?”
She smacks me lightly on the back of my head. “You shut the shower curtain, so I wouldn’t see your p***s, but you want a sponge bath?”
“I’m in the middle of a dry spell.”
She laughs, standing to her feet.
“Wash my hair?” I ask before she sneaks out of the room.
She walks back in immediately. “Fine.”
Kneeling back down to the linoleum floor, I slide up in the tub and bring my head back, making it easier on her to reach my head and easier for me to hide my package.
She squeezes shampoo into her hands, lathering it up and then moves her fingers along my scalp. Her gentle hands work my hair better than any hairdresser and I close my eyes at the peaceful feeling that engulfs me.
Neither one of us says anything, but she doesn’t rush the job. Using her niece Molly’s hair bucket thingy, she dips it in and pours it over my head, still using her fingers to help the water rinse the suds out. Her breast rubs against my arm and a zillion bolts of something that feels like electricity head straight to my d**k. Skylar Walsh’s breast has grazed my arm more times than the Pope has said a Hail Mary. So, why does my d**k decide that right now is the time to react? I try to shift a bit, but it’s useless. There’s no concealing the fact that it’s sprouting out of the water like a f*****g whale surfacing.
Maybe a sponge bath wasn’t such a good idea.
Her hands work faster, and I bring my knees up, hoping like hell she can’t see it. When she finishes, my body already yearns to keep her with me, but she stands, drying her hands on the towel. “If you need help getting out, holler.”
Did she feel the energy shift, too?
“I’ll be good, thanks.”
She says nothing, and I hear her footsteps descending the stairs. Thank goodness. I’ll be in peace with my erect d**k to dry off.
I slide back, resting my arm on the side of the tub, my head leaning back on the warm tile. Closing my eyes, my brain is anything but calm. Maybe it’s the injury messing with my mojo.
I hear the front door open, small footsteps running in and then the door slam closed again.
“Aunt Sky! Aunt Sky!” her nephew Caiden yells.
“Auntie Sky!” Molly screams.
Shit. Zoe and her kids are here.
“Hey guys.” Skylar’s probably bending down to swoop them up. Her niece and nephew are her world.
“Where’s Beckett?” Zoe asks.
Shit. Skylar left the door open. I search for anything to throw over myself. The towels are too far away and unless I want to yank the flowery shower curtain that Mrs. Walsh told me she hand made when the kids were younger—long and boring story—I’m s**t outta luck.
Using my good arm, I push up on the tub, grunting as I struggle to gain my footing.
“He’s upstairs. He’ll be down in a second.”
The footsteps blazing a trail up the stairs are as fast as my heart beats. I use all my arm strength to shut the door.
“No!” Molly screams on the other side of the door.
“You two sit. Uncle Beckett will be down in a second,” Skylar says, obviously having followed them upstairs.
I let out a relieved breath, slowing my movements so I don’t break a leg or my other arm.
I can hear Skylar and Zoe yammering on and on about the Classics and their parents being in Arizona and how the parents of Zoe’s husband, Vin, insisted she bring over some rumaki.
I always did love Zoe’s in-laws.
The sound of foil opening has my ears pricking because those two little piglets are going to eat all the delicious water chestnuts wrapped in bacon. My stomach growls. This is the best part of the Classics being over. I can eat whatever I want.
My steps over to the towel rack become more urgent since I know that by the time I dry off and get dressed with the use of one arm, the rumaki will be gone.
I reach toward the towel rack with my good arm while I’m standing in the tub and the small embroidered towel falls to the ground. I should’ve asked Skylar to bring my towel closer. Finally, with both feet out, I inhale another breath and set my gaze to the towel, mentally prepping to retrieve it.
Hell, maybe I’ll go downstairs in a towel, steal some rumaki, and then get dressed.
Grabbing the towel, I realize I have to get dressed first because without the use of my other hand, I can’t wrap it around myself. Motherfucker.
I take the corner of the towel, letting it hang open, rumaki at the forefront of my mind as I look down and try to figure out a way to swing the towel around my waist and somehow catch it with my good hand.
“AHHHHH!” a piercing scream echoes through the small space.
My head whips up and my gaze flies to the open door. Four-year-old Molly is standing there wide-eyed and staring at my junk.
Fuck!
I hurriedly place the towel over me, scrunched up with one fist but covering all the important parts.
Caiden crawls like an army guy behind her up the stairs.
“Molly?” Zoe’s panicked voice rings throughout the house.
“I’ll be right out.” I shut the door, my heart hammering in my chest with an unnatural rhythm, my breath hiccupping from the adrenaline of a little girl seeing me stark naked.
Four footsteps stomp upstairs. “Molly, I told you to stay downstairs.”
“Sorry, Mommy, I wanted to surprise Uncle Beckett.”
My back slumps against the door.
“Next time listen to me, okay? You probably scared Uncle Beckett.” Zoe’s voice is ten decimals calmer now.
“Mommy,” Molly says. “Did you know that Uncle Beckett’s p***s is way bigger than Caiden’s?”
You could hear a pin drop in that hallway.
“We talked about this, Molly. Boys have p*****s and girls have v*****s. And size doesn’t matter anyway, sweetie.”
“Yeah,” Caiden says all smug.
“Since when?” Skylar asks and snickers.
I can imagine her sister shooting her a death glare. A second later, I hear Caiden squealing and telling his auntie to swing him around again.
“I know, but it was kind of scary looking.”
Skylar and Zoe bust out laughing and I close my eyes shaking my head. I’m never going to live this down.
- Writer
