When I open the shower door and step into the small enclosure, Steve aims a smile at me over his shoulder.
"Hey, babe," he greets me, continuing to rub the loofah over his chest. "How was work?"
I touch my fingers to his waist as I flatten my body against his back. I press a wet kiss to his shoulder, pushing my breasts into him as I get closer. "It was good," I mumble.
My hands start to wander up and down his ribs. I'm realizing now that the tequila is still running through my body, so I'm slightly tipsy and very horny. I continue leaving kisses along his shoulder.
"Babe," Steve admonishes, stopping my hand before it can venture too far south. "We're going to be late for dinner."
I rub my breasts against his back, aching for the friction on my nipples. "Nuh uh, we're already saving time by showering together," I reason innocently.
He sighs and turns around. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck, my lips lightly brushing his. His hands grip my hips.
"Hi," I whisper. My smile widens, and I'm certain it looks like a drunk one, but I just really want him to kiss me right now.
He rubs his nose against mine in an eskimo kiss, but he still doesn't give me what I want. Since I have the more voracious sexual appetite, Steve is rarely the one to initiate sex. I often have to come on to him if I want to have sex at all. And even though I expect it by now, it doesn't make me any less annoyed when I have to do it.
I stifle my huff of frustration and instead press my lips against his. I continue kissing him, nibbling on his lips, until he relaxes against me and kisses me back. I shiver when I feel his grip on my hips tighten. And when his lips finally open to mine, I moan and slide my tongue into his mouth.
He freezes, as if he's been shocked. When his fingers dig painfully into my skin, I pull back with a frown.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
With my arms still wrapped around his neck, there's only a little bit of space between us. And from here, I can very clearly see the fury that's flashing through his eyes. That I swear I can feel down to my very bones.
"Were you drinking?" he asks coldly. His fingers dig into me so hard now that I feel the skin break under his nails.
"Ow!Steve!" I shove at his hands and he lets go without any further struggle.
"Answer the question," he grits out, clenching his fists at his sides and ignoring the cooling water from the showerhead.
I resist the urge to rub my hips where he grabbed me and instead glare at him in answer, my arms crossing over my chest in a very useless attempt at hiding. "I had a drink at lunch. I wasn'tdrinking."
He shakes his head, the disapproval clear on his face as he rinses the rest of his body. Neither of us says a word as he steps out of the shower. I reach for my own bodywash, scrubbing my body and silently wishing I could wash the alcohol from my scent and the shame from my skin.
When I can’t hide in the shower any longer, I wrap a towel around my body and walk through the doorway of our bedroom. I don’t even step inside, feeling like I need the space between us right now. Steve’s rummaging in the closet, looking for clothes and blatantly ignoring my presence.
He seems to lose his patience in an instant when he very suddenly turns to me and demands, "Who did you have lunch with? Why didn't you text me that you were going out with someone?"
"Steve, I was out withRemy." I answer, then sigh in exasperation as my arms drop to my side. I pointedly leave Jax's name out of it, knowing that my drinking with Remy is enough of a trigger for Steve as it is. Jax would make this situation so much worse. Because no matter what I or anyone else says, Steve still doesn't understand how a man and woman could be friends without romantic feelings. He doesn't understand my relationship with Jax, which means he's still very much threatened by it.
I've never handled his jealousy very well, for the sole reason that I've never seen the point of the emotion. It's hard to wrap my head around Steve's mindset when he gets like this.
"You still could've told me."
Could've, notshould've.He's always so sneaky and intentional. He knows exactly what words to use where his tone implies an order, but his word choice can never be said to be domineering.
"They took me out for lunch on my birthday," I explain incredulously. "We weren't exactly bar hopping, Steve."
At that, the flames of fury reignite in his eyes. "And you thought you would just have your birthday drink without me," he summarizes in a deceptively-flat tone. "And I wouldn't care. In fact, you thought I’d be grateful, didn’t you? To have a drunk, horny girlfriend begging to be fucked like a whore? Is that what you were hoping for?"
I flinch at the derogatory words like I’ve been struck and grip my towel like a physical shield.
He frowns. “Wait a minute.They?Who else were you with?”
Everything in me freezes when I realize my slip-up.Fuck.
He doesn’t even wait for me to confirm his suspicions. He just sneers at me and says, “I knew you had a thing for that oversized moron that hangs out with your sister. So now you’re cheating on me with him? You must love himmore if you’re lying to me about it and wanting to spend your birthday withhiminstead of me.” He cuts off my stuttered defense by giving me another disgusted once-over. “Go ahead, then. Go get drunk with your sister and her friends. Clearly, you’d rather spend the day with them.”