I’d miss washing that glorious head of hair more than I’d miss washing my own if it all fell out.
But I got where he was coming from because if the situation were reserved, I’d want to do it for him too.
So, I watched as he lowered himself into the tub, his body so big that his limbs barely fit in the big well of it. He hooked his arms and legs over the sides and sank back into the steaming water looking just as ridiculous and strangely charming as a giant taking a bubble bath would.
I giggled through my drying tears and went to sit on the side of the tub, settling his big head in my lap. He hummed like some great beast under my petting hands as I squirted shampoo into them and stroked them through his locks, using my thumbs hard on his skull. Then because I couldn’t help myself, I dragged my sudsy hands down his strong brown throat, rubbing at the corded muscles there and then down farther still, to circle my palms over his marble pectorals and flat, brown nipples. He didn’t have any tattoos on his chest and when I’d asked him about it, he’d told me that there’d never been anything important enough to wear near his heart. He already wore the name of his children on either pulse point at the underside of his wrists. The fact that he was such a good, loving dad turned my crank harder than it should have, given I was only seventeen.
When I was done rinsing his hair with the handheld showerhead, I leaned down to pull the drain and Zeus caught my hands in a firm grip.
We caught eyes.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned him.
Of course, he fucking dared.
I screeched as I went tumbling into the bath on top of him.
He laughed so loud it seemed to shake the walls and the water sloshed all around us, over the lip of the tub.
I hit him in the chest.
“Like the look’a ya wet,” he grinned, ducking his chin so he could see my nipples against his chest.
I shook my head at him but didn’t resist the urge to lean down to kiss his full lips. Then because he was Zeus and even though we’d had sex three times in the past twelve hours, we made out until the bathwater was cold.
I drained the water and dried off my man with a towel because the opportunity to do so was any girl’s wet dream. Then I dragged a chair into the bathroom and sat him down with his head resting over the sink and turned on the electric shaver.
I stared at it vibrating in my hand and felt the tears clog my throat again. Zeus opened his eyes from his comfortable laze and grabbed my hand with one of his, totally engulfing it.
He held my eyes as he brought it awkwardly down to the middle front of his hairline and pressed down into his crown of hair.
I sobbed as we cut off an inch from the root in one long, thick strip.
Then I sobbed even harder as we worked together all over his broad scalp until a thick pile of sun-kissed hair lay in the sink and all that was left on his head was a short pelt of mink. I turned off the buzzing shaver and fell into his open arms, straddling his waist and kneeling up so that I could press my palms to each side of his bearded face and kiss all over his newly shaved hair. My tears watered the shorn tresses until they gleamed and then Zeus had had enough and he pulled me down into his arms so he could seal my crying mouth with a hard kiss.
“I got you,” he murmured into my hair. “I got you.”
The Garros and I were going for breakfast at Stella’s Diner to kick the rest of their hangovers. I was holding Z’s big hand even though everyone on Main Street stopped to stare at good girl Louise Lafayette walking beside the notorious Zeus Garro. It made my spirits lift to be able to offend their sensibilities like that so I stopped my man often to plant a big kiss on him just to hear the gasps of offended townsfolk.
Cress was trying to convince me that Satan was the hottest character in the history of the written word.
“Seriously, you should read it. Honestly, I’m thinking of making it a mandatory family read,” she declared with a confidence that moved me.
There was no doubt in her mind that we were all a family. King was her man, I was Zeus’s and therefore we were part of the Garro clan.
The thought warmed me the way being a Lafayette never had.
“I don’t read,” H.R. declared. “Unless it’s magazines.”