Vaguely, I’m aware of the door opening and closing, then the sound of a shampoo bottle snapping open. There’s a presence next to me, warmth radiating off of him and his almond-and-vanilla scent mixing with the lavender of the bath. I’m suddenly too tired to open my eyes or protest. Nothing he hasn’t seen before anyway. The thought has me smiling.

“Something funny?” Ryan asks, his voice low and soothing. I want to crawl into the sound of it and sleep.

“No,” I lie. That warmth from earlier collects between my thighs. If I weren’t already underwater, I’m sure there’d be an obvious wetness there, too.

He hums as if he doesn’t believe me but doesn’t say anything else. The next thing I know, his fingers work their way into my scalp, pressing and massaging with delicious pressure.

“Oh my god,” I moan. “That feels amazing.” Any remaining tension rushes out of my body, and it’s replaced with an aching desire that cuts through my exhaustion and starts my heart racing in my chest.

His fingers leave my head for a moment as he shifts into a more comfortable position, then they return to their work. I crack an eye open to find him looking down at me with such tenderness that my pounding heart skips a beat.

I have to look away. If he continues to look at me like that, I might cry. Because he used to look at me like that. I long for him to keep looking at me like that. But when he’s done here, he’s going to leave. This isn’t permanent. It can’t be.

My gaze trails down his chest. The light blue of his sweater is speckled with dark spots where the water has splashed him. His sleeves are rolled up, and some black ink catches my eye.

“You got a tattoo?”

“Hmm?” he hums as if he had been distracted. “Oh, right. Yeah. Maybe four years ago now?”

“What is it?”

He turns his forearm over so I can see. It’s designed to look like his skin is paper, ripped open to reveal the page of a book. I lean in to get a better look at the words, but he flips his arm and starts massaging my head again.

“It’s pretty badass.” My eyes drift closed as his ministrations have their desired effect. “Did it hurt?”

“Not as much as some things,” he says.

My breath catches in my throat, but I keep my eyes carefully shut. His hands go still as if he’s wishing he could take it back.