“I guess roomandboard would have been a little much to ask for,” Andreas says dryly, and then tries the tap. The faucet sputters and then expels a stream of water into the sink.
His eyebrows shoot up, and a smile crosses his face. “I, for one, could go for a shower before I get back to snoozing.”
My skin itches with the grime I’m abruptly aware of coating it. “Me too.”
Jacob gives me a pointed look. “You can have your turn last.” Then he glances at Andreas. “Go ahead, but don’t take too long. We have no idea how much hot water we might get, if any.”
Andreas nods and jogs upstairs. He’s already ducking into the bathroom when the rest of us follow.
There are only two other rooms up there, a larger bedroom and a smaller one, both with double mattresses on blocky wooden frames and no other furniture. Jacob considers them and then heads back downstairs.
I figure he’ll tell me I need to sleep on the floor while he and the other guys share the beds, and at this point I don’t even care. I rub my hand over my mouth to suppress another yawn and wait for my chance at the shower.
The guys are at least considerate enough to heed Jacob’s instructions and keep their time short, although that’s probably more for each other’s benefit than for me. I don’t think Jacob considered that by having me go last, I can take as long as I want, since there’s no one left to delay or stiff on the hot water.
I strip off all my clothes except my necklace, with a faint twinge of uneasiness like Jacob might try to steal it if I remove it from my neck even for a second. Then I start the shower running.
The tub area doesn’t come with any toiletries, but there’s a pump bottle of liquid hand soap on the sink that’s damp from earlier usage. I bring it right into the tub with me.
Luke-warm water pelts me, but it’s better than the nothing-at-all I’ve had for days before. I rub the pearly white soap all over my skin.
My fingers graze the moon-and-droplet tattoo on my thigh. I glance at it, blinking through the spray, abruptly choking up.
One more sign that I belong with the guys I came here with. One more fact they’ve somehow decided doesn’t matter.
I yank my gaze away and finish scrubbing myself down.
My hair’s been tied in the same braid since the last time I showered, which was enough days ago that I’ve lost track. I pull off the elastic, but the strands catch on each other, refusing to fully unwind. So I work the soap into my scalp as well as I can and rinse it off, figuring that’s good enough.
As I’m shutting off the water, the door squeaks open, and there’s a soft thump on the floor. “We found some clothes in a box in the basement,” Andreas says. “And a washer-dryer set. Figured you might like the chance to wear something clean too, even if it’s a bit big. I’ll grab your old clothes to take them down, if that’s okay?”
“Thanks,” I call out, feeling weirdly exposed even with the opaque curtain between us.
When he’s gone, I ease out to find he’s left me with a simple cotton dress that’s only a little loose around the waist but falls to my calves when I think it was meant to be knee-length. And it’s not exactly my usual style. But I’ll take it if it means I can have my hoodie, tank top, and cargo pants back clean in a few hours.
He tookallmy clothes, including my panties and sports bra. Which I’ll be glad to have clean too, but I feel oddly exposed even with the dress draped over me like a curtain.
Girding myself, I pull on my sneakers and head out.
Jacob is waiting by the top of the stairs dressed in a tee that’s stretched on his muscular physique and a pair of gym shorts, both obviously borrowed like my dress.
“I’m escorting you to your room so the rest of us can get our sleep,” he says.
I blink at him. “My room?”
He gives me a chilly smile and gestures for me to follow him.
We walk downstairs and through the kitchen to another, dingier flight of steps that leads to the basement. A damp, mildewy smell tickles my nose as we descend into the depths, but the guys have risked turning on the light down there where there are no windows, so at least it’s not pitch black.
On one side, there’s a laundry room where the washing machine is rumbling away. On the other side is what I guess is meant to pass for a guestroom to potential buyers, with a steel-framed twin bed and a tiny side table that holds the lamp responsible for the room’s light.
It doesn’t seem like such a bad deal until Jacob starts back toward the stairs with a caustic remark tossed over his shoulder. “The basement is the only part of the house we can lock from outside the room. You can stay down here until we come for you.”
Oh. I’m not being given the gift of privacy but the punishment of a prison. I really shouldn’t have expected better, should I?
I sink down onto the edge of the bed and wait for the sound of the door thudding shut at the top of the stairs. Instead, there’s a murmured conversation I can’t decipher until the end.
“Fine,” Jacob mutters. “But you should get some rest too.”