The steam had barely cleared from the mirror when Chris decided that the next person who tried to tell him what to do was going to regret it.
He stood there for a long moment, towel around his waist, hair dripping onto the marble, watching the condensation fade from the glass. His reflection looked calm. That was the lie.
Inside, he was done.
He'd given up enough. His job. His home. His autonomy. His jeans, apparently.
And now, after all that, after swallowing every ounce of pride he had left, Dax had the nerve to vanish and send a wardrobe edict through Hanna?
'Unbelievable.'
He turned on the shower again, hotter this time, and stood under it until the skin at the back of his neck burned. It wasn't a bath so much as an attempt to rinse off the day, Dax's scent, Hanna's voice, and his own stupidity for believing that he might like being with Dax.
