42. That Shower Though

Briar

There's no question. My answer comes without a second thought. "Yes."

Gavin scoops me up, grabbing my clothes too, and carries me to the bathroom we're all sharing. He sets me down on the tiled floor, then hands me a fluffy towel he's taken from the linen closet as we passed it. "Do you want me to get you something else to wear?"

"Sure. Jammies would be nice," I say as I hang the towel on the hook next to the shower. "There's a pair of sleep shorts with donuts on them on my bed. I left them there."

"I'll get them," he says, eager to help.

A laugh bubbles up inside me, but I stifle it quickly. I don't think he'd want me to laugh right now, even though I'm not laughing at him.

I'm still intoxicated from the most exhilarating night.

"Thanks," I say, then I reach into the shower and turn the water to high as he leaves. Before I get in, I grab a hair tie from the vanity, twist my strands onto the top of my head, then look in the mirror, kind of amazed. "You just had sex with three guys."

Fine, technically I didn't. But that's splitting hairs. For all intents and purposes, I did.

Somehow, three men are exactly what I needed to get over the hump.

Life is funny that way. I never expected Steven stealing my cat would lead to my first O with a man. It's a bright new world.

I step into the shower and let the hot water sluice over me, lifting my face to the stream, savoring every sensation of this side of O-Land.

The door creaks open. Gavin's back, setting the jammies on the vanity in a neat, folded pile. He's not alone. Donut's at his feet, waggling her little booty as she trots inside, headed straight for the shower. "Hey, girl," I say to my pooch.

She shimmies in excitement.

She must have been in the bedroom the whole time. Probably for the best. She's young and impressionable, after all.

After she finishes her greeting, she flops down on the bath mat.

Gavin gestures to the door with some reluctance. "I'll leave you alone," he says.

I almost want to ask him to stay, but he might need his space. "Sounds good," I say, closing my eyes and lifting my face to the water as he exits.

Footsteps sound on the hardwood. But seconds later, the door swings open in a loud, definitive thunk. Startled, I blink open my eyes.

Gavin's outside the shower stall barefoot, still dressed in jeans and a polo, and with determination etched in his sinful hazel eyes. He grabs the handle on the shower door and jerks it open, muttering, "Fuck it."

"Fuck what and why?"

The corner of his lips twitches as he gives a what can you do shrug, then stretches an arm into the shower and curls his hand around the back of my head.

His arm's right in the stream, getting soaked. Then, the rest of him as he steps into the shower and covers my lips with his.

It's a hot, deep kiss that makes my knees weak. He steadies me, roping a strong hand around my hip, settling it there as he crushes my mouth. He's unforgiving in his kiss. Merciless as he sucks on my bottom lip, then my tongue.

I taste the wine he drank earlier, then catch the faint scent of whatever cologne or aftershave he slapped on after his shower before game night.

The taste and the scent mingle deliciously.

A low rumble emanates from his chest as he kisses me harder. My belly swoops. Then, I say screw it too, grabbing his shirt collar and tugging him closer to me.

He seals his body to mine and kisses me under the scalding stream. I'm naked and he's fully dressed. His polo shirt sticks to his strong chest, his jeans turn sopping wet, his hair is slick, and still, he doesn't break the kiss for long, dizzying seconds.

When he does, his breathing is staggered, his eyes fiery. I push wet strands of hair off my face, catching my breath as he steps back and out of the shower, dripping water onto the floor.

"Guess I need a towel," he deadpans.

This time I don't smother my laugh.

A little later, I'm dried off, lotioned up, and dressed in sleep shorts and a comfy T-shirt.

I'm hungry too.

But also a little unsure. What happens next? Well, besides food. Do we pick positions for tomorrow? Does Gavin join us again? Was this a one-night-only foursome? Was this even technically a quartet?

Four people got off, girl. It was a foursome.

With a strange new burst of nerves, I pad down the hall, turn into the kitchen.

"Dude, that is not how you make an omelet. Stop, just stop. You're hurting my eyes," Gavin says to Hollis.

They're both at the stove. Gavin has changed into gym shorts and a T-shirt. Hollis is shirtless and sporting basketball shorts.

"This is fine," Hollis insists, pushing the eggs in the pan with a red spatula.

"The pan is too hot. Your omelet is going to be overcooked. It'll be browned and burned and overdone."

"I like well-cooked omelets," Hollis fires back.

From the other side of the kitchen, Rhys scoffs as he washes blueberries in the sink. "No one likes well-cooked omelets."

"You're siding with Worthy?" Hollis asks, faux aggrieved.

"Yes, Bouchard. Because you, sir, are just plain wrong."

"Facts," Gavin says, then pushes Hollis aside to take over the pan.

Amused at the scene, I lean against the wall then play my ace. "I like well-cooked omelets," I announce.

Gavin hisses. Rhys shudders.

Hollis just grins, smug and cocky as he gestures proudly to me. "See? There you go. Our guest prefers my omelets."

Gavin lifts the spatula my way like he's going to make a point. "We're going to do a taste test then, Briar. My perfectly cooked fluffy omelet and his overcooked one. They'll be ready in five."

"Fair enough," I say, then head to the couch to wait for them to serve me.

Feels fitting.

I settle in, pick up my phone to open the novel for Trina's book club as they chat about tomorrow, mentioning they don't have to do the obstacle course in the afternoon, and I pipe in that I only have yoga in the morning. Then I yawn as I swipe on my e-reader and return to the chapter where I left off. It's a good story, but as the heroine debates the merits of banging her boss, my eyes flutter closed.

I rustle awake to the sun shining brightly through the window and Donut licking my face.

As I stretch, I glance down. There's a blanket covering me, and I'm not on the couch anymore. I'm on my bed.

I fling off the covers, scoop up my dog and walk around the cottage, but it's silent and I'm all alone.