Debbie is a 45 year old single mother with chestnut brown hair. She is training to be a masseuse. Her son has moved away for college. To keep her company and to help pay the bills, she rents out a spare room to Matt, a 21 year old college student with brown hair, hazel eyes, an athletic figure, and a modestly hairy chest with a dark trail of hair down to his penis. Matt has only recently moved in. As summer begins, Matt beings to wear less clothing around the house. He is not shy. Debbie secretly enjoys it. The two share a bathroom where they sometimes run into each other.

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

The scrape of Matt’s razor against his jaw was the loudest sound in the humid bathroom. Debbie watched its path in the mirror, her own hairbrush moving through her damp chestnut locks with mechanical slowness. The steam had cleared enough now to offer a stark reflection: her, towel-clad, face flushed, eyes dark with a focus that felt too intense; him, naked, angled towards the mirror, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each careful stroke. Water droplets still glistened on the hard lines of his shoulders and the dip of his spine.

"Forgot how blunt this thing gets," Matt muttered, pausing to rinse the razor under the tap. Water splashed, droplets hitting the porcelain sink and the countertop dangerously close to Debbie's elbow. She flinched slightly, the cool spray a shock against her warm skin. He didn't seem to notice, intently examining the blade. "Should probably get new blades. Lifeguard pay doesn't stretch as far as you'd think."

"Tell me about it," Debbie managed, forcing her voice light. Her knuckles were white on the hairbrush handle. The reflection showed the powerful curve of his back, the tautness of his flank as he leaned, the casual, unconscious display of his body. It was hypnotic. Dangerous. He’s just shaving. This is normal. For him. "New career isn't exactly minting gold either. Yet." She added the last word with a determined lift of her chin, catching his gaze in the mirror.

He grinned, meeting her eyes briefly. That easy, open smile. "You'll get there. People need good massages. Especially stiff old dudes like Mr. Henderson down the street." He resumed shaving, the sound rhythmic, almost soothing if it weren't for the context. "Bet he’d pay extra for your magic hands."

A jolt went through her, low and warm. Magic hands. Was he teasing? Flirting? Or just being Matt? His expression in the mirror was merely friendly, focused on the task of navigating his jawline. She watched the smooth glide of the razor, the way the white foam parted to reveal clean, tanned skin beneath. A tiny nick appeared just below his ear. A bead of blood welled, bright red.

"Ah, crap." He dabbed at it with a corner of the towel slung around his neck. "Always get that spot."

"Here," Debbie said, acting on impulse before thought could stop her. She reached past him, her damp arm brushing against the warm, hard muscle of his bicep. She grabbed a small styptic pencil from the medicine cabinet shelf. "This’ll stop it." Her fingers trembled slightly as she held it out.

He turned his head towards her, not his reflection, his hazel eyes meeting hers directly for the first time since he’d joined her at the sink. The proximity was dizzying. She could see the individual flecks of green in his irises, the faint stubble he hadn't yet shaved, the tiny droplet of blood clinging to his skin. The clean, damp scent of him, mixed with the sharpness of the shaving cream, filled her nostrils. The towel around her felt perilously loose, the soft cotton the only thing separating her skin from his nakedness barely inches away.