We walk around the back of the house for what feels like minutes before we reach the back door. Kyra has texted her father and the door has opened-what kind of technology is this, I wonder to myself as I follow her inside.
We walk straight into a kitchen-it is large with tall gray cabinets and white marble counter tops. There is a coffee pot tucked into a corner on the counter but not much else. Kyra drops her purse on the floor and kicks off her shoes, sauntering over to the fridge. The walls are painted an off-white and the lights are on, but dim, creating a dark glow where the sunlight seeps in around the curtains, which are a rich-looking material; they falls in loose waves around the windows before puddling on the floors. Everything is so… beautiful. I sit at one of the leather barstools at the large island that centers the kitchen. The kitchen is three times the size of the trailer I lived in.
“Sandwich?” Kyra asks, and I nod, appreciative of whatever she wants to make for me.
“You know,” I say slowly, peering around the house, “I’d really like a shower. I didn’t get one this morning before we left. I had to take some of my notes to Josh.”
Kyra grows a wicked smile. Here we go. She’s going to talk about Josh again.
“I didn’t know you went to see Josh before we left!” Her eyes are wide with possibility and I hate to deflate her but, again, I do.
“I dropped my notes off with him. I don’t like Josh, Kyra,” I shake my head at her.
“He likes you. And so do Kevin and Matt!”
Deep down I know she isn’t wrong about Josh-he’s always trying to casually touch me somehow and he texts me often. But… as nice as he is, I just don’t feel anything when I see him or when I’m with him. And when I’m not around him, he’s completely out of my mind as if he doesn’t exist at all.
I may be inexperienced but I don’t think that is how great loves start.
“You have to use the best shower in the house,” she beams, dragging me up what feels like a few flights of stairs, we turn a maze of corners before we stand before grand double doors.
“He’s got the best shower and it’s Friday, Marie’s already cleaned. So, it’s not like you’re showering after my Dad. It’s clean and just wait till you see it… it’s glorious.”
I feel the warmth bloom inside me, my hands grow clammy and feet tingle and heat surges up to my face and burns my cheeks.
“No way,” I step back from the doors, “I’m not using your Dad’s shower!”
Kyra grabs my hand and pushes the doors open, pulling me into the room until we’ve entered the bathroom. I kept my arm in front of my eyes like a child because I couldn’t bear to look around her father’s room.
In my mind, the ways I’d played it, the time I see his room is when he takes me there.
I shake the filth free from my mind, knowing how ridiculous it is to fantasize about a stranger, and open my eyes to see the bathroom.
Kyra’s locked the door and turned the water on, pulled a towel off the warmer and is digging around in one of the drawers before holding up a bottle of soap.
“The laundry room-” she stops herself before continuing and I wonder why for a second. “The laundry room is actually a small room off the back of the property behind the house, near the second garage. I’m going to go sort all of our stuff. I’ll bring you some clothes of mine for when you get out.”
Her laundry room is a building all of its own? She snaps me out of my surprise.
“Enjoy it,” she points up at the ceiling in the shower. My eyes widen.
There is a large, solid brass rectangle floating above, like a metal rain cloud, pouring water. The edges of it are traced in a faint blue light and when Kyra presses a button, the water disperses in ripples.
“It does so much cool stuff, the switch is here.” I didn’t even know anything like this existed.
“It’s called a Rain Shower,” she said, adjusting it back to the normal rain setting.
“Leave a trail of breadcrumbs so I know how to get back downstairs,” I tease, closing the bathroom door behind Kyra. Though for a moment my heart races at the idea of navigating this house on my own. I probably will get lost.
I pull my pony tail out and set the elastic down on the counter. Stripping down, I leave my worn clothes in a pile at my feet. I stand in front of the floor to ceiling mirror that is positioned across from the shower. I can see that my normally fair skin has grown rosy; in my cheeks and across my chest. Is it the excitement of being in his shower? You don’t even know him, this is really silly, my inner voice reminds me as I step inside, pulling the heavy glass door closed.
The warm rain water envelopes my body, the large stall is already filled with steam and I can feel my body grow fuzzy. A deep pressure has been building inside me for what feels like years and now-in the marble shower stall-I feel an urge so deeply rooted inside me that I may not be able to breath if I don’t attend to it.
I let my fingers wander around my body, smooth and soft, with full curves and a tight waist. I’ve never shared myself with anyone before and the idea has grown so powerful in my mind that I know when it does happen, I very well may pass out.
I reach down and feel the slick moisture that is growing between my lips and I part myself, slowly, and gently. Running my finger tip inside myself and back up to that spot-that spot that aches to be touched- and I run circles around it. Inhaling, there is the faintest scent of men’s soap-it’s him, I think to myself, my greedy finger stroking quickly now. My eyelids flutter, the hot water intensifying the electricity that runs through me. And just as I feel the pressure growing beneath my fingertips, Kyra taps the door.
“Almost done? I got some clothes, I’ll set them right inside the door.” “I was almost done,” I mutter to myself.
I soap up and rinse off, enjoying my last few moments of the rain shower, even if I didn’t get any tension release.
Kyra’s laid out a pair of cut off shorts-cut off by the factory, not jeans that have been simply cut into shorts like my own are-and a white tank top. There’s a pair of panties-the tag still on-and a hair brush. I put the clothes on and they fit me perfectly despite Kyra and I really not having similar body types. I’m soft yet lean, with admirable breasts and a small backside, and she’s not quite as tall as I am, with ample hips and small breasts. But somehow, the clothes fit me… perfectly. I drag the brush through my long blonde hair lazily until it looks adequate and I step out into the master bedroom, the steam from my shower whirring out around me.
My breath hitches.
His room is massive, elegant, and perfect. A large four-poster bed centers the room, ivory colored drapes cover the floor to ceiling windows and the walls are a light gray. His bed is covered in a huge white comforter and white pillows. Simple and clean. Two huge sconces are on either side of the bed on the wall and I wonder if he reads in bed, or if the lights are there to illuminate the body of his lovers, though I very much hope not. I walk to the doors, not allowing myself to look around any further, and wander aimlessly until I find the kitchen again.
KYRA IS SITTING at the bar, eating a sandwich on her phone, completely engrossed.
“That was amazing,” I break her concentration and sidle up on the barstool next to her. “Thanks for the clothes.”
She nods, turkey and lettuce peeking through her thin lips as she chews.
“I got our stuff sorted. Marie will wash it all and I’ll have it sent to your room.” My room. I feel so overwhelmed by it all, suddenly.
“I’ve never spent the night at a friend’s house before,” I murmur, embarrassed to admit it aloud. Kyra smiles.
“You’re gonna spend the whole summer here so quit being shy and enjoy it. I know my Dad never does!”
I smile and take a bite of my sandwich.
“He’s on his way home now, actually,” she adds casually, typing into her phone still.
My heart nearly stops.
Finally, I get to meet… the voice.