And then London crashed, curling suddenly off their stomach into a ball, and she fell onto her side with them, sliding her arms around them, holding them tight, the skin between them still sticky and sweet.
Dahlia stood under the hot flow of water for a final second before, with reluctance, she leaned over to shut it off.
Brushing aside the shower curtain, she gazed at London in front of her, vigorously rubbing a towel over their head before wrapping it under their armpits. They looked at her, that damp bit of strawberry hair sufficiently mussed and lovely, their skin red and dewy from the hot steam.
“Hey.” London smiled. And then, their eyes narrowing an inch, they said, “You okay?”
Dahlia grabbed the towel they handed her, wrapping it protectively around herself.
They were always asking her that, at the precise moments when she had no idea how to answer.
The night before had been, alternately and sometimes simultaneously, the funniest and most erotic thing she had ever experienced. She had loved every single second of it. Every moment with London was a new experience in letting herself go. An exercise in being vulnerable. A trial run of true, exhilarated happiness. Last night, she had felt . . . free.
The only logical course of action when they woke up with tangled limbs akimbo in very messy sheets had been a hot, thorough shower together. And while Dahlia had at first thought this could be an equally sexy venture—she had always wanted to try shower sex!—both of their bodies had been too exhausted to contemplate it.
Instead, the scene in the shower ended up being almost embarrassingly gentle.
London had washed off every square inch of Dahlia’s skin in the confines of the shower, bending down awkwardly to get between her thighs, behind her knees, the bottom of her heels and between all of her toes. She kept yelling at them, worried they would fall on the wet tile and smack their head, but then they’d touch her with such reverent attention that she’d go speechless again.
There were patches of herself, sore from how determinedly London had sucked sticky sweetness off of them, shocked at being seen and adored, that she wasn’t sure she had even been aware of before.
She had attempted to return the favor, scrubbing down London’s back and shoulders, all of their hidden crevices, wanting to make them feel clean and renewed and cared for.
And now, as she stood dripping in the shower, watching London dry themself off and brush their teeth, such ordinary, intimate things, Dahlia felt frayed at the edges. Like she felt too big for her body, suddenly, like she didn’t know how to proceed without her limbs falling apart.
“I’m going to need another towel for my hair,” she said eventually, motioning limply to her head. “This is a two-towel affair.”
“Of course.” London handed her another towel and she scrunched her hair in it, grateful for a practical, normal action.
“You didn’t answer me,” London said as they watched. “Are you okay? You seem . . . a little shaky.”
Dahlia twisted the towel on top of her head.
“I’m . . . tired. You are exhausting me, London Parker.”
A grin jerked up a corner of their mouth.
“I would apologize, but you know, I don’t really feel sorry.”
Dahlia shook her head, but she grinned too. Smug, sexy London was too much.
“I think I need a night to catch up on sleep,” she said. “Is that okay? We can collapse in our own beds tonight, and pick this back up tomorrow?”
The more she thought about it, the more she knew she needed this. A breath of bittersweet relief coursed through her.
“That sounds very reasonable and healthy. I mean, I don’t love it, but sure, if you’re into that kind of thing.” London took a step closer to the shower. They leaned down and kissed her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said. And then she stepped out of the shower to start preparing herself for the day.
It was only later, when they walked onto set, about to film another Elimination Challenge that could result in either of them being sent home, that Dahlia realized her mistake.
She had suggested a night off. That they pick this back up tomorrow.
Like another night was guaranteed.
Like tomorrow was a promise.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Dahlia!” Janet’s hand landed on Dahlia’s shoulder. “Let’s head to hair and makeup. Parker, you’re good.”
Dahlia gave London a small shrug of her shoulders, which they returned, before she followed Janet down the hall. When they reached hair and makeup, Janet plopped into one of the black chairs next to Dahlia, swiveling a bit as Mack untwined Dahlia’s still-damp hair from the clip she’d thrown it in.