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He looks at me, confused again. At this point, I have to sigh and roll my eyes. Then it dawns on him,finally, that he’s leaning against a wet wall.

He chuckles as he stares at his arm and then walks toward the door.

“Happy showering,” I tell him with a huge smirk because I’m already envisioning water beading on that tight hot body of his. Then I can towel dry him. . . shit. . . stop!

“Thanks to your little show there, itwill behappy showering,” he taunts over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Enjoy your time.”

As I expect, he stops before he reaches the door and tilts his head to the side as he grins, like I told him he won the lottery.

Oliver, not liking his proximity, growls again.

He glances down at my dog and then to me. “Care to assist me?”

“Nope,” I say quickly, and I’m actually surprised I said it so quickly because it’s not at all what I’m thinking.

Mentally I’m already standing beside him with water beading on every hard surface of his body.

I can’t help but smile again once he leaves. Thinking of Tathan—thinking of me—in the shower doing things that have nothing whatsoever to do with bathing makes me smile.

Oliver looks up at me like I’m crazy, which I am, but refuse to admit it out loud to anyone, even if it is a puppy.

“Shut up, Oliver.” He looks up at me but doesn’t say anything, because, you know, he’s a dog. “Stop judging me.”