“You don’t have to,” she says, her voice barely audible in the quiet bathroom.
“I want to.” I pick up the pink canister of shaving cream. “Use this?”
She nods, her eyes flicking between the razor and my face. I’ve never done this, but how hard can it be? How different from shaving a jaw and chin and cheeks?
I lift one long, lean leg from the water and immediately recognize that this is very different.
“I don’t see any hair,” I tease. “What am I supposed to be shaving?”
“I like to shave before the hair shows,” she says, her expression loosening into a smile.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Gimme that,” she laughs, reaching for the razor. “You’re gonna cut me.”
I gently push her shoulder until her back rests against the lip of the tub.
“I can do this.” I squeeze a dollop of the cream into my palm, spread it slowly over the curve of her knee and down the muscle of her calf. All humor is snuffed, because I’m touching her more intimately than I have since we last made love in Santa Barbara. In tandem, our breathing hitches, hurries. I run the razor down the length of her leg, clearing a path in the foamy shaving cream. She goes still, our stare unbroken, her chest heaving with labored breaths, while I repeat the action until her leg is smooth and soapless.
“One down,” I say, unable to look away from the elegant lines of her throat and collarbone. “One to go.”
I wait for her to extend the other leg, and begin again. I’m smoothing on the shaving cream when I notice the same rash on her arm a few weeks ago on her calf and knee.
“Does it hurt or itch?” I ask, frowning, unsure if I should put shaving cream on the affected areas.
The simmering passion stirring in her eyes extinguishes, and she jerks away, dropping her leg back into the water.
“I’ll finish later. You can . . . I can do this. Thanks anyway.”
First the uncharacteristic modesty and now this. Neevah’s incredibly comfortable with her body and has never been shy with me. So her hiding and withdrawing this way—it’s not her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and reasonable when I want to yell. Want to demand why she’s been avoiding me. Why she acts like I haven’t seen her naked before. Haven’t touched her. Haven’t fucked her in every position I’ve ever fantasized about. I have. I remember the slide of our sweat-slick skin—recall the mingled scents of our bodies. I know how tightly she contracts around me when she comes.
So what is this?
“Baby, please talk to me.” I dip my hand into the water, find her fingers, and link them with mine, watching her face for those feelings she usually can’t hide. “I’ve been with you. I have seen you.”
“You haven’t seen me like this,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling. “You don’t want to see me like this.”
“Or you don’t want me to see you like this?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“Yeah, because one implies that I don’t want you unconditionally, and the other implies you don’t trust me to.”
My words linger in the silent bathroom, echoing off the walls. Neither of us looks away from the other, but for once I’m not sure what I’m seeing. She has frosted the glass, and I have no idea how to read her, how to reach her like this.
“Ya know,” she says, sitting forward so her breasts push through the suds, “if this is the set-up for a pity fuck, I’ll pass. Is this the part where you pat yourself on the back for sticking around? Where you tell yourself how noble you are for not leaving? Because you can go.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I ask, tilting my head and peering past her anger and bravado to what I suspect is beneath. “If I left so you could do this on your own and I wouldn’t have to see you any way but perfect?”
“I’ve never been perfect.”
“You are for me, and it has nothing to do with how smooth your skin is.” I gesture to her headscarf. “Or if you lose hair or need a kidney or whatever the hell this disease has in store.”
“Lemme guess,” she barks a sardonic laugh. “Because you’re in it for the long haul, right?”
“Is this some kick-him-out-before-he-has-the-chance-to-leave shit? Because if so, try something else. I will not be disposed of. You hear me?”