Page 9 of Steady Stroke
“Almost there.”
He grabbed the bar soap and started lathering his body, desperate to scrub away the sick feeling in his stomach. He washed his hair, his torso, every crevice and crease, including behind his ears and between each toe. He washed until his skin burned and the water was lukewarm, and it still wasn’t enough.
“You want something, ask for it, you little shit.”
He’d never make that mistake again.
Lincoln turned off the water and dried himself. Wrapped one towel around his waist and another across his shoulders, then bolted down the hall to his room. The bed was changed with fresh sheets and a new blanket, and the loveliness of that made his eyes sting. He put on flannel pants and a long-sleeved tee, and then crawled back into bed.
Zelda woke him a while later with a small meal of broth and crackers. He sipped at a sports drink, too, kind of grateful for the mothering.
“How long are you staying?” he asked.
“’Til the morning. Roxy wants to go see a movie, and we haven’t done that in so long. You feel up to joining us?”
“No, but thanks.” He cast about. “Do you know where my phone is?”
“Where did you have it last?”
“Jeans pocket. Last night.”
She found the jeans crumpled in a pile near the closet. The phone was down to thirty percent battery. No missed calls, but he had two texts.
Melody:Now you have my number.
Melody:So how’d it go with Tall Cute and Blond last night?
He’d totally forgotten about meeting Melody—probably the best part of his entire night. Except for the bar back with the pale eyes. That was a very good memory, brief though it was.
Zelda left with his tray and no questions, so he typed out a response:Didn’t end how I thought it would. You have any luck?
He debated texting Dom, waffling on it long enough for Melody to ping back a reply.
Predictably no. Your guy have a small prick?
Lincoln snorted.No, he was all prick. Big mistake.
Sorry to hear that. Want to meet & try our luck tonight?
As much as he liked the idea of hanging out with Melody again, he had no intention of sitting in a bar and ogling future mistakes.Not feeling the night life.
I hear you. Want me to come over? I’ll bring wine. We can bitch about men.
He stared at the message until the pixels began to blur. He’d known Melody a grand total of three hours, and she was inviting herself over. And that wasn’t a bad thing. He needed friends, and he liked Melody. She was easy to talk to, and she didn’t seem to have that adopt-a-gay thing that some straight chicks got when they started hanging out with a queer dude.
He wouldn’t mind the distraction.
Why not? Roommate won’t be here.
Awesome. Red or white?
It took him a second to realize she meant wine.Pick your fave. My stomach’s weird so I may not drink.
Suit yourself. Seven thirty?
He had to check the time. Still only four. Plenty of time for another nap and more soup to fuel his engines.Sounds good.He also texted over the address.
She sent back a GIF of a baby dancing in happy circles.
