Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Mack with groupies? Shocker,” she mutters, but her voice is teasing. “Can you still drum?”
“Of course I can.” I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Music is my life.”
“Prove it.”
Without hesitation, I lean forward and proceed to drum to the beat of the current song on the edge of the tub and even start to include her lower thighs into the mix as my high hats.
I half expect her to push me away, but instead, she just giggles as she watches the impromptu show.
When the song switches over to “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin, I don’t stop delicately using the tub and her body as a drum. I add her calves and her shoulders and her arms into the mix, utilizing every visible part of her body as my own personal drum set.
Katy observes me, her eyes a little lazy now from the two Vicodin she took, but not so much that she’s not fully aware of what a goof I am.
“It’s like John Bonham is right here in the bathroom with me,” she jokes.
“You know who John Bonham is?”
“Are you kidding me?” she retorts. “Kai Dayton is the biggest Led Zeppelin fan there is. When I was a kid, before every one of his motocross races, he listened to this very song.”
“Smart man,” I say and slowly bring my drumming solo on home with a few final taps to her thighs.
“Sometimes,” she corrects, shutting her eyes again. “Most of the time, though, he’s too wild for his own good.”
The more I find out about Katy and her family dynamics, the more I understand why she is the way she is. Her childhood was the complete opposite of mine. Whereas I had two parents and an older sister who doted on my every need and, oftentimes, worried too much for my safety, Katy had two wild-child parents who forced her into a responsibility role most kids don’t have to experience until they’re actual adults.
The song switches over to an Arctic Monkeys tune from their AM album. When this song hit the radio back in the day, everyone loved it, and I still love it just as much as the first time I heard it.
“Man, I don’t know if it’s the Vicodin or the bath or the music or the candles or a combination of all of it, but I’m feeling really fucking good right now,” she utters, her voice having taken on this breathy tone that incites a reaction from parts of myself I pointedly disregard.
Because with Katy using the f-word, I know for a fact that the Vicodin have kicked in.
It doesn’t matter that she looks absolutely beautiful lying in the bath with her head back and her eyes half closed. She’s vulnerable right now, and I can’t take advantage of that.
Her full lips rest in this gorgeous pout, and her arms are lax at her sides. The towel is still on her body, although it’s managed to migrate down from her shoulders in a way I’m trying to turn a blind eye to. The curves of her breasts are just barely visible now, and it’s starting to wreak havoc on the memory I have of that first day in the condo when I walked in on her in the shower.
Don’t go there, dude. We’re trying to calm the libido—not rev it up.
In an effort to distract myself, I grab a washcloth from the cabinet below the sink and set it beside the body wash on the edge of the tub. As if to gesture, now would be a really good time for you to get this bath moving along for my sanity…
Thankfully, Katy takes both into her hands and begins to rub the soap into her arms and shoulders and legs. It’s one hell of a sight, and I do everything I can not to notice how soft and smooth and perfect every inch of her visible skin looks.
This woman is a work of art. Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo would’ve sacrificed a hand to be able to paint the beauty that is her.
I turn around to face the door, both to give her privacy and to give myself a minute to calm down. I ponder the meaning of life and the curve of the earth and about seven million other things to keep my mind busy while the water sloshes behind me. It almost works, but the next words out of her mouth blow it all to hell.
“Can you get my back?” she asks, and I turn and take the washcloth from her hand without thinking.
As she sits up so I can reach her back, more of the towel starts to fall from her body, and she doesn’t startle or stop its descent. She just lets it…fall…slowly…down her body until the wet material has completely pooled in the water above the apex of her thighs.