“Fuck… I think she came to tell me she was pregnant.”
“Possible, yes. Which is why she never tried again.”
And she had every reason not to.
* * *
“Wake up.I’ve set an appointment for you, and I don’t want to be late.”
Delilah blinks, rubbing her eyes. “Huh?”
I stand over her, beside the bed, and can’t help but think about how helpless she is. “Up. You have things to do.”
“Like what?”
“You’re going to get a full checkup by the doctor. It’s standard for all students, and since you’re going to be one soon, there’s no choice.”
“A checkup?” She sits up, squinting at me. “Like, all over?”
“I imagine so. Get in the shower. Dr. Lauren has a schedule to keep, and we shouldn’t make her wait.”
She holds up a hand before I can walk out of the room and wait for her. “Um… I don’t know how to say this…”
“What is it?” I snap, and it’s almost too gratifying when she flinches. I did the right thing, having her sleep separate from me last night.
She folds her arms before lifting her chin defiantly. “I was wondering if I can shave while I’m in there. It’s kind of embarrassing to walk into a checkup like that when you haven’t touched a razor in forever.”
The idea is ridiculous enough to make me laugh. “Right. Let me hand you a razor and see what happens.”
“I doubt I could do much damage with a disposable razor.”
“I don’t use disposables. And don’t get any ideas. I keep them locked up now that you’re here.” She groans when I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“Fine. You feel that way about it? Maybe you could do it for me.” Her lips twitch. She thinks she’s being cute again. Like if she embarrasses me, she wins.
“You have a point. I’ll unlock my razor. You get undressed and wait for me in the bathroom.”
“Wait a second.” Now she’s in a big hurry to get out of bed, scrambling to her feet.
“No time. Let’s go.” While she’s sputtering and probably wishing she hadn’t suggested this, I go to my bedroom closet. Maybe she thinks I’m only kidding about the razors, but she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not taking a chance with her. I haven’t needed to use this lock box for a long time. It sat at the back of the shelf, gathering dust until I brought her here. I pull out the handle along with a fresh blade, watching to make sure I’m not observed. She’s still dragging her feet. Probably wondering if I’m bluffing. “Don’t keep me waiting,” I call out.
“This is uncomfortable. You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re the one who made a big deal about it. Stop wasting my time.” I prepare the razor, pull out the shaving cream, and set them on the edge of the tub. “Come on. Clothes off.”
“Fine.” With my back to her, she quickly strips. I have to remind myself not to let my imagination run away from me. This is about teaching her a lesson.
“I’m ready.” I turn to find her sitting on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel. Without saying a word, I drop to one knee in front of her, then turn on the tap for the sake of rinsing between strokes.
“Just stay still.” When I pick up the shaving cream, she stiffens, then flinches away. “What?” I snap.
“Can I at least do this part myself?” she holds out her hand, and since it doesn’t seem like she could do too much damage with a can of cream, I give it to her. She makes quick work of lathering up her leg before propping her foot on the tub.
“Do you do this a lot?” she asks. There’s a nervous edge to her voice.
“Oh, sure. My office has a sign-up sheet for anybody who needs a shave.” I touch the razor to her skin, and she flinches. “Seriously?”
“You’re holding a sharp razor to my skin. Sorry if it makes me nervous.”