Page 21 of Surrender

For one blissful second, my heart rate slows before tripping over itself again as she barrels out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, soap suds still in her hair. Steam billows out behind her, and the shower still runs in the background.

“Oh my gosh, what is going on?”

“We’ve had an incident.”

My molars grind together as I look in the direction of the kitchen. It’s close enough to feel as if I’m looking at her, but I am absolutely not looking at her in nothing but one of my big gray fluffy towels wrapped tightly around her dripping-wet curves.

Fuck me. This couldn’t get any worse.

“I could use your help.”

“What happened?”

My mouth sets in a determined line. “Bennett had a diaper failure.”

“Oh no,” Whitney breathes, her eyes so round and wide I can see the whites all the way around the irises from clear across the room.

“If you’re almost done with your shower, we’ll all need one after this.”

She releases a small, embarrassed chuckle and crosses the room.

“Don’t come closer!” I nearly groan at her proximity and fight against my cock getting hard. So much smooth skin is on display. The last thing I need is for her to come near me while wrapped in that towel, knowing she’s naked underneath.

Whitney reaches touching distance and coughs. “Oh my god! That’s so bad!”

“I didn’t know something so small could produce something so offensive.”

Her eyes light with humor as she looks up at me. A wrinkle appears at the bridge of her nose as the full Bennett effect reaches her.

“I’m so sorry.” She laughs. Her lashes fan against her cheeks as she blinks back tears. “I’ll take him with me so you can wash your hands.”

She relinquishes her grip on the towel to hold out her hands, and I’m astounded by her bravery. If that towel slips…

I fight to maintain my composure and not reveal this is the most stressful situation I’ve been in during my adult life. Not the baby. Her. She’s one towel slip away from being naked in my living room.

I hand Bennett to his mother and avoid looking at my soiled hands. With one more awkward chuckle, Whitney turns on her heel and dashes back into the bathroom. Wet footprints slowly evaporate behind her.

My eyes close, and I inhale slowly through my nose. As I exhale, I reopen them.

“How about we get ourselves cleaned up before dinner?” I say to the only person left in the room.

A sharp elbow knocks into my thigh. I look down and suck in a startled breath through my teeth.

“I’m all cleaned up.” Lucy has her chin tilted to me, her pink shirt in a pile by her feet, and a brown streak on her forehead disappearing into her hair.

At least her tears stopped.

I wince. “C’mon, kiddo. Looks like you have a little mess in your hair.”

I guide her into the laundry room just off the hallway to the garage. She waits patiently while I wash my hands in the sink. Twice. Just in case the first time isn’t thorough enough. I like to think of myself as a brave guy who’s solid in a crisis. I help take care of dirty dogs. But back there? That was something else.

With clean hands, I hoist her up onto the counter and instruct her to lay with her head over the edge of the sink so I can wash her hair. I fetch a fresh towel from the dryer and drape it over her body so she doesn’t get cold.

The water temperature is warm where I test it against my wrist before I get to work lathering her hair. Lucy’s quiet while I concentrate, but her brown eyes never leave my face. I feel her studying me as I drizzle the blue dish soap along her hairline and gently massage the suds into her short strands.

“I have to rinse now. Can you close your eyes?”

Without hesitation, she squeezes them shut tight. The trust she’s placed in me feels precious and undeserved.

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