Page 29 of ClickBack

“And made more money than the year before.”

He grins at me. “I believe you.”

I had meant to give him the useful version of Di, a name he could recognize if it came up again. Instead, I find myself telling him about the terrible costumes and the front row of proud relatives, remembering how funny she looked insisting everybody take her seriously while wearing a crown made of cardboard. I haven’t thought about that girl in years. For a while, talking to him, I get to be her friend again.

When the water begins to cool, I reach for a washcloth. Jarrett holds out his hand for my leg. I give him the cloth and stretch my leg toward him. He starts at my ankle, and for the first few passes it is simply help with a task. Then his attention travels more slowly. I watch his face while he works, and when he releases one leg, I offer the other.

“My turn,” I say afterward.

He comes closer. I wash his arms, turning one big hand in mine, then move over his shoulders. Up close, I can see small scars among the ink. My fingers pause at them. He lets me look, which makes me want to be gentle in a way I had not anticipated last night.

I lean forward to kiss him. His hand steadies me at the hip. We stop, still close, and he smiles before I kiss him again. The washcloth slips out of my fingers, and he catches it against his chest.

“Lost something,” he says.

“I know where it is.”

He places it on the ledge and draws me nearer. I slide my hands behind his neck and keep him close when he starts to draw back from me. Last night I wanted all of him at once. This morning, I want to learn what I missed.

My hand goes down his stomach, and his breath catches when my fingers go lower and find him, hard and heavy under the water. I watch his face as I stroke him, enjoying how difficult I am making it for him to keep talking. Then his hand closes gently around my wrist.

“We’re about to undo all the good this did.”

“You could stop kissing me.”

“You started.”

“And now I’ve given you a solution.”

He laughs, kisses me once more, and helps me settle back before standing. I look up at him, pleased enough with my morning to forget the mirror until I catch us both in it.

My eyes do what they have been trained to do. They move past my face to my stomach, my breasts, the places that have changed without asking me. I can name what he will see when I stand. I am so practiced at finding it that I almost miss the fact that he is looking at me with the same interest he had when I was covered in expensive clothes.

It doesn’t erase the hesitation. I still wait while he takes down a towel. But when he holds out his hand, I take it instead of asking him to turn around again.

He braces me as I step onto the bathmat, then wraps the towel around my shoulders. I draw it closed. His fingers brush my cheek, and I look up expecting a question.

“Better?”

“Better. You’re still not getting another turn.”

He laughs. “I was going to offer breakfast.”

“That, I can manage.”

The basketball shorts require several turns of the drawstring, and even then I feel I should avoid sudden movement. Jarrett finds a clean T-shirt and watches me inspect the result in the mirror.

“I look like I lost my luggage on the way to a rec center,” I tell him.

“You did get the clothes from a center.”

I turn to face him.

He waits, fully committed to what he has done.

“That was awful.”

“You smiled.”