It's more than a little weird, going up these stairs on her own, even when she has before. When she was here for the day, waiting for Steve to get back, not long after he came back here, himself. But that was when she was wearing his shirt, sleeping in late in his bed, caught back up in his arms when he came back again, with a bottle of wine and steaks for the grill.
Now, he's still downstairs, and none of that is going to happen. Not today, certainly, and not for a long while, which she can't quite bring herself to add hopefully, so she switches the thought around. Hopefully this person who is good to Steve will stick around, whatever that means for her. It's not like she'll be going anywhere, really. Aside from the obvious physical distance of being on duty. And maybe by the next time she's here, he'll be back to being free.
But she can't wish that, either, so she just makes her way to the bathroom, shuts the door, and turns on the water with the decision that she'll take her time.
Two extra minutes to allow herself to be petty, and sad. Two minutes, maybe not enough of a wake to mourn years of a physical relationship suddenly pulled away from her, but more than enough time to be thoroughly, indulgently, wistful. She's envious as she scrubs shampoo through her hair, sad as she washes it out, back to befuddled as she combs in conditioner, determined when washing suds off her face, eyes closing to the steady stream of hot water, steam sneaking in to relax muscles tense from that conversation and not yet sore from their run.
Which seems like so long ago.
But by the time she's rinsing the conditioner out of her hair and noting how much longer showers take with this amount of it, her mind is back on point. Circling the second important question, the one she hadn't asked yet: where exactly is this person? Steve hadn't expected her to appear this weekend, so it's not like he would have asked for time alone, would have had no way of knowing to tell them to stay away for fear of discovery. If it's been good, why aren't they here, making this awful weekend better? What could be more important?
The hiss of the shower muffles the mean little voice that's been whispering in her thoughts, and when she's cranking the water off again, she feels better. Self-pity washed away, because Steve is still here, and she's still here, and the sex was never the important part of them, anyway. They've given it up before, and still keep coming back.
She steps into bikini bottoms, ties the top, pulls on the jean shorts and the teal top, rubs a towel over her hair, and considers herself in the mirror. Serious dark eyes, skin too pale for Hawaii. Cheeks flushing with warmth. And the determined set to her chin that she can feel insinuating itself.
They're not done yet. And, besides, she wants to know more about this person who can make Steve look like a bemused, befuddled kid for the space of a few minutes lost in thought about them.
Which is the thought in her head when she's sashaying back down the stairs, tipping her head towards the upper floor. "All yours."
no subject
It's more than a little weird, going up these stairs on her own, even when she has before. When she was here for the day, waiting for Steve to get back, not long after he came back here, himself. But that was when she was wearing his shirt, sleeping in late in his bed, caught back up in his arms when he came back again, with a bottle of wine and steaks for the grill.
Now, he's still downstairs, and none of that is going to happen. Not today, certainly, and not for a long while, which she can't quite bring herself to add hopefully, so she switches the thought around. Hopefully this person who is good to Steve will stick around, whatever that means for her. It's not like she'll be going anywhere, really. Aside from the obvious physical distance of being on duty. And maybe by the next time she's here, he'll be back to being free.
But she can't wish that, either, so she just makes her way to the bathroom, shuts the door, and turns on the water with the decision that she'll take her time.
Two extra minutes to allow herself to be petty, and sad. Two minutes, maybe not enough of a wake to mourn years of a physical relationship suddenly pulled away from her, but more than enough time to be thoroughly, indulgently, wistful. She's envious as she scrubs shampoo through her hair, sad as she washes it out, back to befuddled as she combs in conditioner, determined when washing suds off her face, eyes closing to the steady stream of hot water, steam sneaking in to relax muscles tense from that conversation and not yet sore from their run.
Which seems like so long ago.
But by the time she's rinsing the conditioner out of her hair and noting how much longer showers take with this amount of it, her mind is back on point. Circling the second important question, the one she hadn't asked yet: where exactly is this person? Steve hadn't expected her to appear this weekend, so it's not like he would have asked for time alone, would have had no way of knowing to tell them to stay away for fear of discovery. If it's been good, why aren't they here, making this awful weekend better? What could be more important?
The hiss of the shower muffles the mean little voice that's been whispering in her thoughts, and when she's cranking the water off again, she feels better. Self-pity washed away, because Steve is still here, and she's still here, and the sex was never the important part of them, anyway. They've given it up before, and still keep coming back.
She steps into bikini bottoms, ties the top, pulls on the jean shorts and the teal top, rubs a towel over her hair, and considers herself in the mirror. Serious dark eyes, skin too pale for Hawaii. Cheeks flushing with warmth. And the determined set to her chin that she can feel insinuating itself.
They're not done yet. And, besides, she wants to know more about this person who can make Steve look like a bemused, befuddled kid for the space of a few minutes lost in thought about them.
Which is the thought in her head when she's sashaying back down the stairs, tipping her head towards the upper floor. "All yours."