I take a breath, doing my best not to think about him all sweaty or soapy.I’m about to turn back toward my room, when?—
I hear it.
A low, muffled sound.Barely audible over the running water.
I freeze.
At first, I think maybe I imagined it.This is an old house.It was probably a pipe whining or something.
Then it happens again.
Only, this time?—
Oh my god.
My entire body locks up, my blood draining straight to my feet.
It’s not my imagination.
Because I knowexactlywhat that sound is.
It’s Joel.
It’s Joel in the shower.
And he’s not justshowering.
Oh god.Oh my fucking god.
My stomach twists into a violent knot.Heat crashes over me in a tidal wave of secondhand embarrassment andsomething elseI refuse to name because somewhere low in my abdomen, a warm tingling sensation floods my senses.
No.Nope.No way.That’s not what I heard.I’m being ridiculous.
He could be… stretching.
Or groaning about how sore he is from his stupid performance.
Or yawning.Yeah.A yawn.A totally normal, in-the-shower yawn.
There are squishing noises and another low, barely contained sound, and my soul is about to leave my body.
I swear to god?—
Wait, what?
Did he just say my name?
My pulse flatlines and my lungs forget how to function.
No—no way.That’s not what I heard.My brain is just short-circuiting from the sheerhorrorof this situation.There is no universe where Joel Price is in that shower—doingthat—and thinking aboutme.
Except…
Except Ididhear it.
And now I can’tunhearit.In fact, the sound of him groaning my name as he—well, it’s burned forever into my brain now.
Holy fuck.