Page 26 of The Boy I Once Loved

When I hear him leave and close the door, I grab on to the glass door and drop the towel on the floor. I hop forward and steady myself and wash my body. As I turn the shower off, I realise my predicament, having discarded the towel on the floor just outside, I realise I can’t reach it without likely falling.

“Dyl. I need you to go get your Mum,” I shout.

“Why?” I can hear the teasing tone in his voice.

“Look, I’m naked okay and I can’t reach my towel.”

He chuckles and I glare through the door to where I know he is standing. “I promise I won’t look anywhere below your eyes, El.”

I groan and I lean my head against the wet tiles. “This is embarrassing. You look nowhere but at my face, okay?”

“Promise.” He appears around the doorway and I immediately cover my boobs with one hand and my private bits with the other. He meets my eyes as he walks in and keeps them trained there. He closes them briefly as he leans down for my towel, and then he holds it out in front of him. “Put your hands on my shoulders and step out and then I can wrap it around you.” I do as he instructs, and he wraps the warm towel around my back and secures it tight. “See? Easy.”

“Dylan, have you seen Ella, she’s not...” Dylan’s mum comes to a still at his bathroom door. She looks from me to Dylan, and I can imagine how bad this looks. I’m standing in just a towel with my arms on Dylan’s shoulders whilst he has his around my back from where he just tied the towel. “Oh.”

I flush a deep shade of red. “This isn’t what it looks like, Stacey,” I tell her hurriedly. I follow her eyes to where my bra and panties lie on the bathroom floor.

“I hope you two are being careful.”

I don’t think I could blush any deeper, but I do. “No, no!” I protest.

Her head whips from my discarded underwear to me. “Oh, my god. You aren’t using protection?!”

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant.” Fuck, I am making a mess of this. I slap Dylan on the arm. “Help me out here.”

“Mum, it’s Ella,” Dylan chuckles. “I’ll always be safe with her.”

His mum gives him a warm smile. “Well good, and this well...,” she points between the two of us. “I always knew you would be together one day.” With a quick smile, she dashes from the room.

I stare open-mouthed at the door and I pinch Dylan’s arm hard. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell her it isn’t what she thinks?!”

Dylan grins. “Well, it kind of was. I did strip you naked and get you in my shower.”

I scowl. “Dylan! This is not funny. Your mum thinks we are having sex!”

“And?”

I slap his arm again. “What do you mean and? She thinks we were in here..., you know..”

“Having sex, in my shower. Yeah, I know.” The bastard chuckles again.

“But we weren’t,” I screech. “Why didn’t you set her straight?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he releases me and he pulls his joggers off.

“Why are you taking your clothes off again??”

He holds his hands up. “Because I am having a shower. So, unless you plan to watch, you might want to leave.” He grabs the top of his boxers and pulls them down.

“Fuck.” I screech as I cover my eyes with my hand and hop forward. “You can’t just get your dick out in front of me, Dyl.”

He chuckles in amusement. “It’s just a dick, El. Well, actually it’s my dick, and it is pretty awesome.”

“Just get me out of here and if I feel that thing touch me, I will kill you.” I hiss as I hop as quick as I can out of there. With my eyes still closed, he hands me my crutches. I hear the bathroom door close and I peek hesitantly out of my right eye.

“Thank Christ.” I hobble over to the bed and sit myself down. I dry myself as quick as I can whilst I am on my own and then secure the towel again around me. I grimace as I realise my underwear is still on his bathroom floor. “I hate you, Dylan,” I hiss quietly to myself. With nothing to do but wait, I sit on his bed and listen to the sound of the shower. He is in there now. Wet and naked and rubbing that perfect body with soap. Lucky flipping soap! I groan and I bang my forehead with the back of my hand. “Stop having dirty thoughts, Ella!”

A few minutes later the bathroom door opens, and he strolls out, towel wrapped around his waist, looking like a chiselled Adonis. I fold my arms and I glare at him, but he ignores me and walks over to his drawers and pulls out some boxers. He comes over to me and bends down and grabs my good ankle. “What are you doing?” I demand.

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