Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I guess he left these for me.
I don’t know how to feel about that yet.
The bathroom has a lone window over the toilet, which is comforting. There’s always an easy way out, if I need it. After a moment’s hesitation, I strip down to nothing, then twist on the water. The shower is a tiled stall, gray and white in color, marbled, with a glass door. Once the water is warm enough to fog up the glass, I step in, then nearly moan as the water pours over me, the temperature perfect.
I can’t remember the last time I had a shower in an actual shower. It’s a little glass box of heaven. Warm, safe, all to myself. Nothing scary to watch for over my back.
I grab the bar of soap and lather up. Next to the soap dish sits a bottle of combo shampoo and conditioner, which I squirt way too much of atop my head. It smells exactly like Coop. A smile spreads over my face as I stand under the steamy, plentiful water, giddy from the experience of feeling all of these soapsuds and fragrant fluids running down my skin, caressing and embracing me.
Then I cry.
The steam hugs me like it’s trying to console me. The water keeps pouring over my head, the white noise filling my ears.
And I cry some more.
It’s weird, to think that just this morning, I was certain my life would never feel normal again.
I must spend a full hour in this safe little glass box. When I shut the water off, I step out in a relaxing cloud of steam and relief, then wrap the towel around my waist.
That’s when the safe feeling starts to fade. I was okay in here, all by myself, but I’m going to have to leave the bathroom eventually, aren’t I? I glance at the shirt, shorts, and boxer-briefs again, reluctant. Putting them on suddenly feels like a contract I’m signing. I glance back at the door, gnawing on my lip uncertainly.
Maybe I don’t have to leave the bathroom just yet.
Cooper is a nice man. A good man. Generous. Forgives easily. Even after I brazenly stole from him, he invited me back to his bar and fed me. Now I’m in his house, still wet from his shower, and smelling like a million bucks.
And I still don’t sense anything weird about him.
Can I really trust this?
All of the instincts that are telling me to relax are the same ones that won’t let me. My gut has never been wrong about guys before—but it’s also never been this confused. I can’t even tell if the clothes on this counter are a gesture of kindness or just another mousetrap waiting to snap the second I get those Hilfiger undies hugging my nuts.
Cooper doesn’t seem like a bad man.
I’m the only one between us who’s done any bad. He’s only been good to me. He didn’t even call the cops.
And he’s good-looking—way better looking than I first realized scouting him out from a distance in the back of the bar, hiding like a shadow.
Maybe I’m confused right now because he’s one of the first gay men I’ve met who I wouldn’t be opposed to being intimate with. Not that the man’s offering. In fact, that seems to be the last damned thing on his mind.
Still, I can’t ignore it. Cooper is a handsome man. And the subtle flecks of gray in his temples, added with the way his eyes sharply take in everything they see, gives him a classy, solid maturity that makes me feel safe around him, like he has the answer to everything, like no harm can come to me if I stay around him. I find that very appealing, present circumstances considered.
That’s not all I find appealing.
I can tell he’s muscled underneath his clothes, which don’t hide his impressive physique that well. In certain light, such as at the bar, you can even count his abs through his shirt when it clings to him in the right way. His poor sleeves suffer every tiny movement of his big, strong arms, which I can’t help but imagine wrapped tightly around me, holding me close to his broad, muscled chest, protecting me from the dangerous world out there.
He’s easy to trust.
That’s also why he terrifies me.
Do I actually like him in that way? That has to be why I stuck around this long without bolting. Or why I trusted his acts of kindness when he took me to his bar to enjoy way more food than I deserved. It didn’t even occur to me until now that he could’ve drugged the food if he wanted and had his nasty way with me or done something terrible. I certainly didn’t see the food being made. Rookie mistake.
I trusted him blindly. And that blind trust paid off. It’s why I’m in his house right now, fresh from the first shower I’ve had in ages, rejuvenated beyond words.