Page 84 of Red Zone
I grin, holding out my hand once I’m up. She takes it.
The bathroom fills with steam almost instantly. Lyla stands at the sink, hair up in a loose, messy knot, tugging her top the rest of the way off with zero shame. She’s down to just her underwear, then nothing at all and my brain short-circuits for a full two seconds.
I strip my shirt off and toss it into the corner. “This is about saving the planet, right?”
“Exactly,” she deadpans, stepping into the shower first. “Strictly environmental.”
Losing the rest of my clothes, I follow her in, and the water hits hot and steady. She moves to one side to give me room, even though the space is tight—and maybe that’s the point. Our bodies keep brushing. My hands twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to grab her hips, drag her closer, and kiss her until the glass fogs over for a whole different reason.
But I don’t.
Because something’s shifted.
She tilts her head back, letting the water soak her hairline. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, and there’s no teasingin her expression now. Just exhaustion. And something that looks an awful lot like peace.
She’s still for a beat.
“I haven’t felt this calm in a while.”
I glance at her, surprised. “Because of me?”
She smirks without opening her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I chuckle under my breath, reaching for the body wash. I squirt some into my palm and without overthinking it, I move behind her and gently start rubbing it over her shoulders.
She tenses for a second—just one.
Then exhales and lets me do it.
Her back relaxes under my hands. I take my time, moving in slow, deliberate circles, watching the soap slide over her skin and swirl down into the drain. My fingers trail along the curve of her spine, light and careful.
“I used to hate showers,” she murmurs.
“Seriously?”
“Too many panic attacks after school. It felt like the water was trapping me. Like I couldn’t breathe.”
I go still.
“You good now?” I ask softly, not joking anymore.
She nods. “Yeah. I think. It just depends on the day. This?” She glances over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine through the steam. “This is okay.”
My hand stays on her waist longer than it should.
It’s not about sex. Not right now.
It’s about her letting me see this version of her. Quiet. Unarmored. Trusting.
And that? That’s way more dangerous than anything we did on my bed.
We towel off and change into dry clothes—both of us stealing from my dresser like it’s not a big deal that she’s about to be wearing my clothes. She ends up in a faded T-shirt that hits mid-thigh.
I don’t say anything about how good she looks in my clothes, but goddamn.
We settle back onto my bed with the lights off and a new movie playing in the background. This one’s quieter. Slower. The kind of thing people put on when they know they won’t be paying attention for long.
Her head finds my chest.
