She had just checked, and everything was there.
As the bathroom door opened, the steam dispersed quite a bit.
Sylvan Cheney lay in the bathtub, looking quite at ease, and for whatever reason—either out of fear of her stealing a peek or out of shyness—he had covered the parts that should not be seen.
He held a bottle in his hand, shook it, and looked at her innocently: "There's no shampoo."
Jasmine Yale was infuriated and snatched the disposable cup from his hand: "That's not shampoo! Idiot."
She really was going to be driven crazy by this man.
Upon closer inspection, he had used a bath towel as a regular towel and flung his clothes on the floor, turning the whole bathroom into a mess!
Jasmine Yale had no idea what to do with him and reluctantly walked over, pouring shampoo into her palm.
"I'll wash your hair for you," she sat on the edge of the tub, resignedly.
"Oh."
Sylvan Cheney closed his eyes, looking thoroughly content.
