Page 10 of After Felix
“Even the hairnet? Surely that can’t contain your mop.”
I shrug. “I nick them, but I have no idea why. Who actually ever uses them? They always look like they’ve been sitting there since the eighties. I’m taking the bathrobe and slippers though.” I look around the room. “And the biscuits and the little tubs of milk.”
“Thank you for enlightening me on your kleptomaniac tendencies. It’s good to be forewarned. Are you sure you don’t want the kettle too?”
“I’ve got one of those already,” I say in a lordly fashion. “But you can never have enough sugar sachets.”
His laughter follows me as I wander through to the bathroom, pinching an apple from the bowl on the table as I go.
The bathroom contains a smorgasbord of products, and after eating my apple and pawing through the selection, I settle on an organic oat-and-honey body scrub and ensconce myself in the shower with my phone blaring music as I lather up.
I’m singing along to Lady Gaga when the glass door opens. “Hello,” I say, grinning at Max. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“It’s a joyous surprise,” he says wryly and holds out his hand for some soap. I squirt it into his palm and am utterly discombobulated when he starts to run his soapy hands over my body.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He peers at me, looking slightly confused. “I would have thought it was fairly obvious, but as you’re a little slow, I can inform you that I’m washing your body.”
“But why?”
He shrugs. “Felt like it.” He gives me a leering glance that makes me relax immediately. “I happen to like your body when it’s naked.”
“Of course you do. You’re not alone in that sentiment.” I sigh dramatically. “Have at it, then. Who am I to deprive you of all of this perfection?”
“Thank you,” he says solemnly and proceeds to wash me. He moves on to shampooing my hair, and my eyes close at the amazing scalp massage he offers.
“You’re wasted as a journalist. You could take this up professionally,” I inform him, and he chuckles. His naked body brushes against mine, and although I can feel that his cock is hard again, he makes no attempt at doing anything.
“I’m not actually a journalist anymore, but thank you for offering me an alternative career path as a naked shampooer. I’ve been at a bit of a loss as to what to do next.”
I swing round to look at him. “You’re not a journalist anymore?” He shakes his head. “So, what do you do?”
He gives me a wry glance. “Hang around in Waterstones and pick up snarky men?”
“Good luck with that. You don’t tend to find a lot of them in there. Your sex life is going to take a drastic dive.”
“I don’t know about that.” He tips my head back and rinses my hair, grabbing a towel when he’s finished so I can dry my eyes. “It’s looking pretty fucking good at the moment.”
I eye him as I step out of the shower. “So, why have you packed up journalism?”
He grins at me, the water cascading down his exceptional body. “Haven’t you read my book yet? The details are all in there.”
I shrug. “I’m waiting for the right moment. It’s unlikely to come during this millennium, so give me the Cliffs Notes version.”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re absolutelyterriblefor my ego.”
“And yet something tells me it will be fine,” I say wryly. I raise my eyebrow. “Well?”
He looks slightly awkward. “I actually tried to retire from overseas assignments last year, but it never took. I missed the adrenaline rushtoo much, so I went back.” He pauses, and a funny expression crosses his face. It looks almost haunted. “I shouldn’t have gone back because my reflexes had dulled enough to cause problems.” He shrugs. “So, I retired again.”
“And what are you going to do apart from write things that entail whole forests being decimated to print your very wordy words?”
The haunted look vanishes, and he laughs with what seems like relief. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
“Will you cover domestic news?”
He shakes his head immediately. “No, that’s not for me.”
