Page 44 of Best Frenemies

“First, I’m going to wrap up your foot. Then, I’m going to shut my eyes and turn around while you get undressed.”

Her mouth and eyes join forces to showcase a skeptical scowl. “And how am I supposed to get in the bath without you seeing me naked or falling on my ass?”

I hold up one of the towels. “You’re going to cover the goods with this, and I’m going to be a complete gentleman and not look while I help you into the water.”

She eyes the towel for a long moment, but eventually, she gives in and snags it from my outstretched hands. “If you sneak a peek, I swear, I will knock your head right off your body.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to fight my laughter. “Understood.”

Thankfully, not even ten minutes later, Katy’s foot is wrapped and she’s in the bath without any mishaps. The towel is still stretched over her body, and the only parts that are revealed include her lower legs and everything from the shoulders up.

“See?” I say with a smile. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She doesn’t humor me with a response, instead eyeing me with a pointed look that saysjust shut up already.

But I don’t take any of it personally. If anything, I’m entertained by her grouchy demeanor. Katy is the type of woman who is fiercely independent, and her current situation—requiring the help of someone else—doesn’t sit fondly with her. This reaction is to be expected. And truthfully, I’m surprised there isn’t more complaining on her end.

An idea hits me, and I take off running for the candles I saw in the kitchen cabinet.

“Mack, what are you doing?” Katy yells after me from her tiled-tub prison. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back!”

Katy is on edge upon my return, but I quickly light the surprise and shut off the main bathroom lights.

“What the hell, Mack? This isn’t the Copacabana. I’m trying to get clean here.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t act like you hate the candles,” I counter as I sit beside the tub. “You and I both know this is every woman’s chosen ambiance for a bath.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and I know it’s because Ms. Stubborn fucking loves the candlelight addition, in spite of her complaints.

I snag my phone from my jeans pocket and pull up my Spotify app to scroll through some of my playlists. “Any song requests?” I ask, glancing up at her as she rests her head back in the tub. Her eyes are closed, and the harsh lines of her expression from ten minutes ago are long gone.

“Surprise me,” she says, making no moves to open her eyes or get washed up.

Obviously, the vibe is relaxation, so I do my best to accommodate. I find a random playlist I created years ago titled “Chill AF,” and it feels pretty apt for the moment. Instantly, the opening beats of an Amy Winehouse song start to play, and Katy mumbles her approval.

“Love this song.”

“You know, when I was in college, I was in a band, and we had a kick-ass cover for this song.”

“For real?” Her eyes pop open at that. “What was your band called?”

I hesitate, and her smile grows. “Oh, this is going to be good, huh?”

I laugh and nod. “Armpit.”

Several giggles jump from her lips. “Armpit? As in, the sweaty hollow of stanky BO?”

“Yep. I was the drummer.” I smile. “We had groupies and everything.”

“Mack with groupies?Shocker,” she mutters, but her voice is teasing. “Can you still drum?”

“Of course I can.” I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Music is my life.”

“Prove it.”

Without hesitation, I lean forward and proceed to drum to the beat of the current song on the edge of the tub and even start to include her lower thighs into the mix as my high hats.

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