Trey gripped the towel tighter, trying to figure out how to tuck his cock up or block it so that it wasn’t obvious that he had a damn two by four going on under there. Ambi would probably burn that towel if she found out.
“The dryer?” Ambi snorted again. “They aren’t even done in the wash yet.”
“You’re washing my suit?” Trey slammed his eyes shut. That was probably the end of his hopes of wearing clothes out of there. Everything would likely be shrunk eight sizes too small when Ambi was done with it. Maybe that was her end game. Revenge. Humiliation. Not that he could fault her.
“Yeah. Everything. Your coat too.”
Trey groaned. Wool and washers and dryers didn’t mix. That coat cost him over a thousand dollars and Ambi likely knew it.
“Do you have anything I could put on in the meantime?” He was glad his eyes were closed so he didn’t have to watch his balls wither up.
“I have a robe. A pink one. I think it would be way too small on you though.”
Ambi’s. Pink. Robe. The fact that the idea wasn’t as hideous as it should have been said a lot for his testosterone level. He imagined slipping that warm fuzzy pink object against his skin and bringing it to his face, smelling Ambi’s fresh scent all over it. On the other hand, his dick was trying to reach up and give him a high five over the idea, so maybe he was still a dude after all, bathrobe fantasies included.
“Or I have a quilt. Take your pick.”
“I’ll take the quilt. I don’t want to ruin your robe.”
Ambi let out a laugh that was too harsh to be a real laugh at all. “Oh really? You don’t want to ruin my robe, but you have no qualms about ruining my life? Not that I remember anything about that. I’ve blocked that right out of my mind. I just think that’s really fucking rich.”
Trey winced. Right. He deserved that. He deserved so much worse.
He didn’t have a good comeback for any of it, so he stood there stupidly, staring at the pink towel wrapped around his waist. A minute later the door cracked open and something multicolored was shoved inside before the door slammed shut again.
He stared at the heap of fabric. It wasn’t hand sewn. It was one of those cheap puffy looking things from the department store that ruined on the first wash. It was ten different shades of pink and purple. Apparently, his humiliation for the night wasn’t complete yet.
He cringed as he slipped off the towel, hung it back on the rack since he knew Ambi hated towels left on the floor or flung over the shower bar or tub side, and pulled on the quilt. He wrapped it around himself the best he could before he opened the bathroom door and stepped out.
He was greeted with another laugh, this time a real one. It started out small and turned into a full-on cackle. It was such a beautiful sound, Ambi full-on doing that crazy belly laugh of hers that sounded totally like an evil witch cackling about a spell, that he was instantly warmed all over again.
“You look like a freaking burrito,” she giggled. He finally turned his head, just to watch her brush tears from the corners of her eyes. “Just wait. Let me get my phone. I have to get a picture.”
“Hell no. No pictures,” Trey grumbled. “I won’t be blackmailed over this. I came here to apologize for what happened. I nearly froze to death out there. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my toes or my fingers or something worse.”
Her eyes immediately tracked to his waist. Thankfully, his dick wasn’t choosing that moment to make a tent out of the middle of the quilt. Small mercies did indeed still exist. His eyes flicked to her face right after and she was blushing a deep shade of scarlet. She ripped her eyes away immediately and stalked down the narrow hall, muttering something about it being a service to all mankind if it had happened.
Trey followed Ambi, struggling to keep the quilt in place. He was very aware that he had absolutely nothing on underneath and that she picked the kitchen to have their conversation. Of course. The kitchen. A room filled up with all sorts of sharp and dangerous objects like knives and frying pans if he should choose to get out of line again.
Like the bathroom and the hallway, which was lined with colorful artwork, the kitchen and living room combo, which opened up into each other, was pretty much exactly what she’d always wanted. Not just the architecture of the place, but the furnishings. She’d picked mostly antique stuff and carried the eclectic artwork into the living room and even the kitchen. The living room had a big red woven rug and a curved vintage green sectional that screamed sixties. The kitchen was complete with a farmhouse table, big planks on the top and chipped yellow paint on the thick legs. The appliances were some kind of retro deal. They were a strange seafoam color and didn’t look safe to use at all.