Chapter 13: Midnight Confessions
The image wouldn’t leave her. It pulsed behind Debbie’s eyelids every time she squeezed them shut. The steam, the sudden clarity, the water droplets on his hip bone, the heavy, soft slap. Her silk sheets felt cool against her flushed skin, but it was no relief. She lay rigid in the dark, the quiet of the house amplifying the frantic thud of her own heart. Loneliness, sharp and unexpected after the day’s chaos, twisted inside her, coiling tightly with a low, persistent hum of desire she hadn’t felt in years.
Hesitantly, almost against her will, her hand slid beneath the waistband of her silk panties. Her fingers found the slick heat, her breath catching. The darkness became a canvas. She imagined him turning not towards the towel, but towards her. That thick flaccid weight, heavy and warm, swinging closer… closer… the head nudging gently, insistently, against her waiting lips. Her hips lifted slightly off the mattress, a low moan escaping as her fingers moved in small, urgent circles—
Knock knock knock.
The sound was soft, tentative, but it shattered the fantasy like glass. Debbie gasped, wrenching her hand free as if burned, scrambling to pull the sheet up over her camisole-clad chest. Panic flared, hot and bright. Oh god. Oh god. Did he hear? The image of his naked form was instantly replaced by the terrifying possibility of him standing outside, having heard that. "Just… just a minute!" Her voice sounded strangled, too high.
She flung the sheet back, padded barefoot to the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took a shaky breath, smoothed her hair, and opened the door a cautious crack.
Matt stood there, haloed by the dim hallway light. Shirtless, muscles defined even in the low light, a towel slung low around his hips. He held up a small, familiar bottle. Her moisturizer. His hazel eyes were calm, a faint, easy smile on his face. "Hey. Found this on the counter. Thought you might need it."
Relief warred with acute embarrassment. He hadn’t heard. He wasn’t… reacting. Just being considerate. "Oh! Matt! Yes! Thank you. And I am so sorry," she babbled, taking the bottle. Her fingers brushed his, sending a jolt up her arm. "About before. In the bathroom. I should have knocked. Or waited. Or… I don’t know. It was completely inappropriate of me to just barge in. I am mortified."
Matt leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, completely at ease. "Debbie, seriously. Stop. It’s fine. Bathroom doors get opened. Happens." He shrugged, the movement making the muscles in his shoulder ripple. "Honestly, no big deal. I figured you just forgot something." His gaze was direct, open. No hint of awkwardness. No lingering tension. Just… Matt. "Besides," he added, his tone turning slightly more serious, "it must be weird for you, adjusting to sharing a bathroom again. After having the place to yourself for a while."
Debbie clutched the moisturizer bottle like a talisman. The casual way he dismissed the incident, the way he stood half-naked in her doorway discussing bathroom etiquette, was both disarming and dizzying. "Weird? Um, yeah, a little, I guess. Though, honestly, my son and I shared one bathroom for years before he left for school. We got pretty used to coordinating." The words tumbled out before she could stop them, a nervous attempt at normalcy, at connection. "Morning rushes, shower schedules… we even used it at the same time sometimes, brushing teeth while the other was in the shower. You know, foggy mirrors, shouting over the water." She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, immediately regretting the overshare. Why did you tell him that?
Matt’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t look shocked. Just thoughtful. He scratched his chin, his eyes holding hers. "Huh. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Practical." He paused, then offered a relaxed smile. "Well, if that’s how you guys rolled, I’m cool with it. Whatever makes it easier. Seriously. Door unlocked, shower running… I can handle sharing the space. No worries."
The air crackled. Debbie felt her breath seize. Sharing the space. While showering. The image wasn't just visual now; it was auditory – the rush of water, the steam, the proximity. Him, just on the other side of a thin curtain. Her, brushing her teeth at the sink. The casual intimacy of it, offered so freely, slammed into her with the force of a physical blow. Excitement, pure and electric, surged through her veins, a warmth spreading low in her belly that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
She fought to keep her expression neutral, to not let the sudden, dizzying thrill show. "Oh," she managed, her voice suddenly husky. She cleared her throat. "Well. That’s… that’s really thoughtful of you, Matt. Very… practical." Practical. The word felt absurdly inadequate.
"Sure thing," he said easily, pushing off the doorframe. "Anything to make living here smooth. You’ve been awesome." He gave her another easy, genuine smile. "Night, Debbie."
"Night, Matt," she whispered.
He turned, the towel riding low on his hips as he padded back down the dim hallway towards his room. Debbie slowly, silently, closed her door. She leaned back against the cool wood, the moisturizer bottle clutched to her chest. Her heart wasn't hammering now; it was doing a frantic, exhilarated dance. I'm cool with it. His words echoed. Door unlocked. Shower running.
The cool plastic of the bottle pressed against her skin. Slowly, almost unconsciously, her free hand rose. Her fingertips brushed against her lips, still tingling from the phantom sensation of something warm and heavy. A slow, disbelieving smile began to curve her mouth. Practical. Yes. Very practical indeed. The steamy image reignited, vivid and charged, behind her wide-open eyes in the dark.