Chapter 32

By the time he pulled himself back into the present, his skin was as pink as a piglet’s and the water was starting to run cold. He felt like a well-cooked spaghetti noodle—steaming hot, worm wiggly, and too soft.

It felt slightly strange to dry off with the towel that was hanging on the bar outside the shower door. It wasn’t dirty, but it had definitely been used before. He could smell Duke on it as though the man were standing in front of him. It was the only towel in the room, though, and while he could have used the excuse to dig around for a fresh one, the only place he could think that there might be one would be in the dresser or the kitchen cupboard. Which meant he’d be back to the same conundrum the coffee had presented. Besides, preserving Duke’s privacy aside, he kind of liked the idea of rubbing himself down with the same towel that Duke had used.