24. Rinse and Repeat
Rinse and Repeat
I open the door to the house and hang my head, the weight of the night settling on my shoulders like a heavy coat. I found texts from everyone once I finally checked my phone—they assumed I struck gold and left with the hot redhead, which in a way, I did.
I guess they don’t need to know I was handcuffed and in the back of a police car.
The whole place is empty, silent, and I wish Sadie weren’t at my mom’s place tonight. Wish she were home so I could tiptoe upstairs, tuck her blankets under her chin, and press a kiss to her forehead.
Just seeing her, hearing her breathing, would be enough. She has this magic, this inexplicable power to make all my bad moods disappear.
But tonight, the house is just a house. Cold. Quiet. Hollow.
Charlotte steps in behind me, closing the door with a click, then her gaze sweeps over the darkness like she’s feeling the same emptiness.
“I need a shower,” she says, voice hushed but certain.
“Do you need a shower?” Without waiting for an answer, she laces her fingers with mine, tugging me gently up the stairs.
I follow, flicking the light on when we make it to the top.
The golden glow spills into the hallway, illuminating the moment she reaches for the zipper of her dress.
With a single fluid motion, it slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet.
My breath stalls.
Okay. Seeing Charlotte naked performs miracles on my bad mood too.
She steps closer, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as I try to keep my eyes on her face and fail spectacularly. When I jerk my chin up in a pathetic attempt to be noble, she tilts it right back down with a teasing finger.
“Don’t look away now ,” she murmurs.
She strips me of my shirt, then my jeans, her fingers brushing over my skin like she’s memorizing every inch. Without a word, I turn the shower faucet on and step into it behind her, the roar of the water drowning out everything for a blissful moment.
She’s spreading soap over my chest when I finally say it. “I went too far, didn’t I?”
Her hands pause for just a second before she looks up. “I might’ve punched her if my hand wasn’t already in bad shape. That would have been too far. What you said was just...what she deserved. A long time coming.”
Water beats down on my back. “But it’s her workplace. I went too far.”
She resumes moving, gliding her hands up my shoulders, then down my arms, her touch firm but soothing. The tension starts to bleed from my muscles, and for a moment, I wonder—would she let me kiss her again? Would that help?
“She should have told you she was back,” Charlotte says.
Yeah, she should have.
I close my eyes as she works lower: my hip, my groin. The second she reaches my cock, my body reacts.
“I honestly don’t understand how you can be horny right now,” she says with a laugh.
I crack an eye open. “You’re here.”
Simple as that. My body doesn’t care that I’m pissed off. It doesn’t care about right or wrong, or that my night descended into madness. It just knows that Charlotte is here, and that does something to me.
She positions me under the jet of water, then rinses the soap from my skin with her hands. “At least tonight was fun until the screaming match.”
“Yeah?” I shoot her a look. “Getting arrested was fun?”
“Not my first time.”
That makes me tilt my head. “Oh?”
She shrugs like it’s nothing. “A couple of years ago, I kicked some guy in the nuts.”
“Damn.” I brush some hair off her face. “What did he do?”
“He was in charge of talent for a shoot, and he...” She taps her chin. “Got handsy. I had to correct his misconceptions—it was my duty , in fact.”
Her fingers return to my chest. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Men being gross? Yes.”
“No, I mean...people in positions of power around you trying to...” I swallow, the thought alone making my skin crawl. “Making things unprofessional?”
“No.” Her hand presses on the side of my neck. “Sometimes. It’s part of the gig, I guess.”
I trace the bruise on her hand. “And this was fun too?”
“The punch was a first.” She pauses, looking down at her knuckles with a proud smile. “And I low-key always wanted to do it.”
“Really?”
“Have you ever?”
“Not since I was a kid. Got punched a couple of years ago though. By my brother.”
“Aww,” she says with exaggerated pity, lifting the shampoo again with her busted hand. “Always getting hit because of a girl, are you?”
I stop her before she can tilt the bottle.
“Hey,” I say quietly, taking it from her. “Let me.”
There’s a protest in her eyes, but I point my chin toward her hand. “You can barely close your fingers. Just...let me take care of you for once.”
She hesitates, then lets her arms drop to her sides and leans back slightly under the spray of the shower, granting me access.
I pour the shampoo into my palm and step closer, close enough that I feel the warmth of her breath as I reach up and gently massage her scalp. My fingers move through her thick, wet hair, slow and careful, like she’s something precious, because she is.
She closes her eyes, and it’s quiet for a beat—just the water and the sound of my hands working through her hair.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
She’s letting me touch her. We’re here talking about men who touched her without consent, and she’s letting me in. Letting me do this.
I rinse the soap from her hair and her body sways toward mine. “This feels nice.”
“Guess it’s another of those dating things, huh? Showering together?” I say, meeting her gaze through dripping strands of hair. She gives me a content smile, and before I can stop it, the question slips out. “Were you on a date with him tonight?”
She rolls her eyes. “No.”
I arch a brow.
“I wasn’t!” she insists. “He was the photographer at the show, and the whole group went out for a night at the club.”
Oh. So it wasn’t a date .
“When I saw you...” Her hands glide over my shoulders as she leans in. “Trust me, I didn’t even remember, let alone care, who I showed up with.”
I slide my hands down her sides until I grip her hips, holding her there.
“You let me kiss you tonight.”
She doesn’t look away. “I let you finger me on the dance floor too.”
“Yes.” I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. “But you let me kiss you.”
Her lips part, her breath fanning over my damp skin. “I did.”
“You like me.” I grin as joy takes over her face. “You’ve got a big ol’ crush on me, baby.”
“Shut up. You’re so corny.”
I step forward, forcing her back until her spine meets the wall. I cage her in, my arms braced on either side of her, my body so close that all I’d have to do is tilt my head and I’d be kissing her again.
When she looks up at me, lips kiss-bruised and glistening, I swallow hard. I could take her right here, make her fall apart all over again.
“But do you have a crush on me ?” she asks, fingers toying with my hair.
I jerk back slightly as I notice the self-doubt in her eyes, then I pinch her chin and tilt her head up. “What’s that mean?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not, Charlotte. None of your fears or doubts or thoughts , even, are stupid. And if you share them with me, then I’ll know how to reassure you. How to make you feel safe again.” I hold my thumb on her chin. “Let’s not do this, okay? Shoving fears down and letting them fester.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just couldn’t help but notice...” She tries for a teasing voice. “Your ex-wife and I look a lot alike.”
“Oh. And you’re worried my attraction to you might not be about you ?”
“Maybe?” She laughs at herself. “I told you it’s stupid. You just have a type—it’s normal.”
“ Not stupid. Never stupid,” I reprimand, cupping her cheek. “And to answer your question, though you’re not the first person to point out the similarities between you and my ex, I have to say I just don’t...see it.”
“You don’t see it?” Eyes wide, she points at her face. “We both have red hair, green eyes. We’re leggy, skinny, tall women.”
“You have ginger red hair. Hers is auburn. And her eyes are light green, but yours are...” I study them carefully, unable to give that color a name. “Muted green. Deep green. Like staring into a clear mountain lake at dusk.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I tuck some wet hair behind her ear, the water hitting our shoulders. “And you have a little skip in your step. Like you own the space around you without even trying.”
Her eyes soften.
“And when you talk,” I continue, “there’s always an edge, a purpose.
You don’t just fill silence for the sake of it—you speak because you have something worth saying.
” I only pause to breathe. “You throw your head back when you laugh and let it take over. You scribble in the margins of your sketchbook, like your brain moves faster than your hand. You tap your fingers on your thigh when you’re drawing.
” I brush my thumb over her lip. “You hum under your breath when you’re comfortable—when you’re focused, or happy, or tired, like your body can’t help but create sound. ”
For a long moment, she just stares at me. Like she’s processing, maybe trying to find the right response. Did I freak her out? How many times can this woman remind me about having a poker face before I start listening?
“And besides, Josie avoids conflict at all costs, and you’re the most confrontational person I’ve ever met.” I grin, trying to break the tension. “You keep me on my toes.”
Her grin is subdued now. “So I’m a challenge? Like a fun puzzle?”
“No, it’s not that.” I press my forehead against hers.
Why do even her insecurities make me like her more?
“It’s that when you choose me, it’s real.
When you say yes, it’s because you want to.
” Charlotte wouldn’t marry me because her family told her to.
She wouldn’t agree to be mine if she wasn’t sure of it.
She wouldn’t accept my love without giving it back.
“You want me in spite of the difficulties, not because it’s the easy thing to do.
” I swallow. “So no, I don’t think you two are similar at all. ”
She looks like she’s not sure if she wants to tease me or kiss me senseless, so I make the choice for her.
Sliding my hand to the back of her neck, I tug her just enough for her to understand what I want. And when she doesn’t resist, when she leans in, I close the space between us.
My lips brush against hers, tender at first, like I’m waiting for her to stop me. But she doesn’t, her arm curling around my neck, pulling me closer.
And just like that, I’m drowning.
Kissing Charlotte isn’t like kissing anyone else. It’s not just heat or softness or the rush of something new. It’s the sharp inhale before a storm. It’s the pulse-pounding moment before you jump off a cliff, knowing you’ll never be the same once you hit the water.
When we finally part, I rest my forehead against hers. “Still think I have a type?”
“Yeah.” She laughs, breathless. “ Me .” She stares at me for a long moment, then, instead of speaking, she lifts our joined hands and presses my palm flat against her chest. “You feel that?”
I nod, barely breathing, her heart pounding hard against my fingers.
“That’s what you do to me, Chef.”