He helps me step inside, and when he’s satisfied I won’t knock myself out by crashing into the side of the tub, he shuts the door.
I stand under the warm water and force myself to push my now wet boxer briefs off and fling them onto the bathroom floor, where they land with a plop.
I’ll get them later.
Quickly I brush my teeth, wash my hair and run the bar of soap over my face and body before half-heartedly rinsing off and awkwardly reaching for a towel.
Fuck, I feel awful.
This is more than a night of too much alcohol.
I’m coming down with something.
Wasn’t my cousin just saying something was going around?
“You okay in there?” Whit asks, his voice concerned.
He probably shouldn’t be concerned. I just puked everywhere, and he’s cleaning it up.
He should probably be hoping for my demise so he can go back to his tidy, clean life. Without wrinkled sheets and vomit.
“Fine,” I lie as I wrap a towel around my hips.
It barely covers my ass. But these towels are Whit’s, so what can I expect? They probably fit nicely around his thin waist. I’m too bulky compared to him, like a bull in a china shop.
What the fuck is a china shop?
“Can I come in?” he asks when I am silent for too long.
“Yeah,” I manage to croak out.
God, I’m thirsty.
He pushes the door open, and those dark eyes assess me.
“You still have shampoo in your hair,” he says, and I shrug.
“It’s fine.”
He shakes his head and then touches my arm, pulling me toward the sink.
“Lean down,” he tells me, pushing my head toward the bowl.
I do as he says because I’m so tired all of a sudden.
Cool water runs through my hair, and it feels so good against my warm scalp that my hand slips, holding the towel around my waist.
“Shit,” I say as the ends disengage, leaving my ass exposed. The towel hangs on slightly. Covering my right thigh. Well done, you.
“Hold on,” Whit hisses. “Stay there.”
I, of course, don’t listen and stand up, knocking my head against the faucet. Probably dislodged it in the process. Whit will have to call a plumber to come to fix it.
Pain ricochets through my head, and I curse. Water drips from my wet hair down my chest as Whit reaches around me and quickly rights the wayward towel. He doesn’t even peek at my flaccid cock hanging impressively between my legs.
Not that I want him to.
But itisprobably my best feature.