Page 12 of Until We Fall

I stand there, water pelting down my back, a heavy silence with nothing but the patter of the shower. I feel sick. I feel like a dickhole.

I feel like I messed up.

Fuck.

4

IknowI messed up.

Rory and I have lived together for two years, andnothinglike that has ever happened. We share a bathroom, too. And we’re pretty easy with it—we brush our teeth together, trading the sink to spit, and he’ll come in when I’m showering—although there’s a heavily frosted glass door that’s impossible to see through, not this open expanse that Rory probably did not expect when he came in here.

I sigh and finish washing myself then flip off the water and step out. I’m muttering, still annoyed with myself, as I dry off and then toss my towel onto the rack before I step into my lounge pants.

I pause at the door, my stomach tightening. I just keep going over what happened, again and again.

I just… have to figure out what to say. How to keep this from being awkward as hell. He was worried about the bed, and now there’sthis.

Okay, here goes. The longer I stand in here with the shower off, the more awkward it’s going to be when I finally go out there.

I find Rory crouched over his suitcase, his back to me, wearing checkered boxers and a white tee. He looks cute dressed like that, the way those checkerboards pattern over his ass.

Stop, D. And whatever you do, don’t grab your dick again.

I rock nervously onto my toes, super aware of my hands dangling at my sides, and then freeze when the floor creaks under my weight.

He stiffens, but he doesn’t look at me. This is so awkward.

I’m such a dickhole. “Rory, I?—”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Wait… “Why areyousorry?”

No, no, no—this wasmyfault. There’s no reason he should be sorry.

He keeps messing with his suitcase, although it’s mostly empty now. “I knocked, and waited, but I shouldn’t have gone in there without you saying it’s okay. I just really needed to put my toiletry bag away. It bothers me not to unpack. But I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have looked. I shouldn’t have—” He sucks in a breath.

I rub off a drop of water that’s trickling down my chest. “No, dude. This one’s on me. Completely. If we’re talking shouldn’ts, I shouldn’t have gone in there and…” Shit, what do I say? “…done that.”

He twists to look at me. He’s still crouched over his suitcase, a bottle of reef-safe sunblock in his hands.

He drags in a slow breath, the wheels in his brain turning in his eyes. “Yeah, well, masturbating is healthy. It reduces stress and improves mood. Helps with sleep. Lessens the risk of prostate cancer. There’s even some research that suggests it improves cognitive functioning. I try to do it daily. Once before bed. Sometimes in the morning, too.”

Ohhhh, fuck.

I swallow, ignoring the instant heat that floods through me. The immediateimage. I’ve never seen Rory sans clothing—he’s pretty private about that stuff—but that doesn’t seem to stop my brain from supplying an onslaught of guesses. I mean, I’ve seen him shirtless. And in boxers. It’s not really hard to guess.

“Yeah,” I say roughly. “Super healthy. Like eating broccoli. And doing yoga. Maybe like a good energy cleanse? Those are always nice.”

“Exactly.” He nods resolutely. “It’s just… It was kind of surprising…” His eyes move over my shoulder, toward the bathroom and then back to me. He fidgets with the bottle of sunblock. “I’ve never seen…”

He winces.

“You’ve never seen…?” Should I be asking? I can’t seem to stop myself, though. He’s crouched on the floor, looking up at me.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I just… you’re…” His eyes slide down to my crotch.

I still, my hands hanging at my sides. My face goes weirdly numb.

---