I half expect her to push me away, but instead, she just giggles as she watches the impromptu show.
When the song switches over to “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin, I don’t stop delicately using the tub and her body as a drum. I add her calves and her shoulders and her arms into the mix, utilizing every visible part of her body as my own personal drum set.
Katy observes me, her eyes a little lazy now from the two Vicodin she took, but not so much that she’s not fully aware of what a goof I am.
“It’s like John Bonham is right here in the bathroom with me,” she jokes.
“You know who John Bonham is?”
“Are you kidding me?” she retorts. “Kai Dayton is the biggest Led Zeppelin fan there is. When I was a kid, before every one of his motocross races, he listened to this very song.”
“Smart man,” I say and slowly bring my drumming solo on home with a few final taps to her thighs.
“Sometimes,” she corrects, shutting her eyes again. “Most of the time, though, he’s too wild for his own good.”
The more I find out about Katy and her family dynamics, the more I understand why she is the way she is. Her childhood was the complete opposite of mine. Whereas I had two parents and an older sister who doted on my every need and, oftentimes, worried too much for my safety, Katy had two wild-child parents who forced her into a responsibility role most kids don’t have to experience until they’re actual adults.
The song switches over to an Arctic Monkeys tune from theirAMalbum. When this song hit the radio back in the day, everyone loved it, and I still love it just as much as the first time I heard it.
“Man, I don’t know if it’s the Vicodin or the bath or the music or the candles or a combination of all of it, but I’m feeling really fucking good right now,” she utters, her voice having taken on this breathy tone that incites a reaction from parts of myself I pointedly disregard.
Because with Katy using the f-word, I know for a fact that the Vicodin have kicked in.
It doesn’t matter that she looks absolutely beautiful lying in the bath with her head back and her eyes half closed. She’s vulnerable right now, and I can’t take advantage of that.
Her full lips rest in this gorgeous pout, and her arms are lax at her sides. The towel is still on her body, although it’s managed to migrate down from her shoulders in a way I’m trying to turn a blind eye to. The curves of her breasts are just barely visible now, and it’s starting to wreak havoc on the memory I have of that first day in the condo when I walked in on her in the shower.
Don’t go there, dude. We’re trying to calm the libido—not rev it up.
In an effort to distract myself, I grab a washcloth from the cabinet below the sink and set it beside the body wash on the edge of the tub. As if to gesture,now would be a really good time for you to get this bath moving along for my sanity…
Thankfully, Katy takes both into her hands and begins to rub the soap into her arms and shoulders and legs. It’s one hell of a sight, and I do everything I can not to notice how soft and smooth and perfect every inch of her visible skin looks.
This woman is a work of art. Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo would’ve sacrificed a hand to be able to paint the beauty that is her.
I turn around to face the door, both to give her privacy and to give myself a minute to calm down. I ponder the meaning of life and the curve of the earth and about seven million other things to keep my mind busy while the water sloshes behind me. It almost works, but the next words out of her mouth blow it all to hell.
“Can you get my back?” she asks, and I turn and take the washcloth from her hand without thinking.
As she sits up so I can reach her back, more of the towel starts to fall from her body, and she doesn’t startle or stop its descent. She just lets it…fall…slowly…down her body until the wet material has completely pooled in the water above the apex of her thighs.
And it’s like…she doesn’t even care.
But this is Katy Dayton we’re talking about here. She’s got to care…right?
Instead of bringing attention to the situation and potentially embarrassing her, I concentrate on the task at hand.
I avert my gaze from her bared breasts and focus on the smooth skin of her back. But as I move the washcloth up and down in gentle circles, the tiniest hint of a moan leaves her lips, and it feels like it has the power to stop my heart.
“That feels so good,” she purrs.
My voice officially on a vacation of its own, I keep washing her back while Katy doesn’t hide her enjoyment from the feel of my hands and the washcloth on her.
This is getting a little dangerous, bro…
The song switches over, and it’s a remix of a song by BØRNS. It’s called “Holy Ghost,” and between the powerful opening that showcases a goose-bump-inducing violin concerto and the far-too-relatable lyrics, I feel like I’ve been punched square in the chest.
Without warning, Katy leans back into the water, and her hands are no longer lax at her sides. With her eyes staring into mine and her teeth digging into her bottom lip, she runs her fingertips ever so gently over her own skin. Over her shoulders and her arms and her belly.