The Double-Tap Accident

Chapter Twenty: Have You Used Wax?

Chapter Twenty: "Have You Used Wax?"

THE DOOR LABELLED 704 opened to Dev chewing on the bacon in his hand. He was all ready for his day, wearing slacks and a button-up. No hat was on his head. His thick hair was parted and styled neatly. Allowing me to step by him, he offered a part of his breakfast to me which I declined, watching as he ate the bacon as fast as he could before he ran out the door for his internship. 

When I headed over to Aven's room while fighting back a yawn, he wasn't there. As usual, his room was relatively neat. There was an empty large coffee on his desk though, letting me know we were in the same sleep deprivation boat. I needed more coffee. The double-double and the iced coffee I chugged down before coming here were barely working. 

"Where are you?" I asked loudly, hanging my jacket over his desk chair, placing my drink on his desk and taking off my hat.

"Bathroom." His voice called from the hallway. 

"What--"

Aven stood at the threshold, giving me a frothy smile. Frothy was the right word for this scenario. Only wearing a white tank top and basketball shorts. His tight curls were under the dark blue durag on his head, his ears sticking out even more.

The comfortable attire made me falter. However, the shaving cream all over his jaw and cheeks made me snort.

"Sorry about this," he said, holding up the shaving stick and returning to where he was at one of the two sinks. "I forgot to shave last night, and the beard was annoying the shit out of me."

Unlike the living room, their bathroom was cluttered. Four towels were hung up in different directions, two over the towel rack, and another two behind the door. Luckily there were two sinks, but nothing would have prepared me for the number of hair products I could see hanging off of the showerhead in the caddy and on the counter of the sink next to toothbrush holders and retainer boxes.

"It wasn't a beard," I said, willing myself not to roam. Don't roam. "You had minimal stubble."

"It was a beard." He argued. My gaze went to the shaving cream on his face and dipped down to his neck. Don't roam.

"It was stubble." Shoulders.

"That's a beard." Arms. Forearms. Hands.

"No, it isn't." Chest.

I was close enough to know that he had taken a shower in the morning—we had argued over this the night before, a complete contrast to my night showering—based on how clean he smelled.

My focus moved to his actions. "You're doing this so slow."

"I don't want to nick myself," He said. "Besides, how would you know?"

"I shave my beard on the daily." I deadpanned. Aven stared at me with the exact same facial expression until we both broke into grins. I took the shaving stick from him and sat up on the empty space next to the sink, my back hitting against a facial cleanser bottle before pushing it to the side.

There was no part of me that was prepared when he stood in front of me. No part of me was prepared for him to act this naturally at the way we were so close, my knees closed between us and the shaving stick in my hand. "My dad," I answered, taking a deep inhale and completely breathing him. Spicy. Calming.

As I peered up at him, I stifled my gasp. The difference between our heights was never usually intimidating. His 6'3 to my 5'7 never made me feel dwarfed in his presence but sitting on the counter in front of him, easily mesmerized by him even with the foam on his cheeks, made me highly aware of the distance between us. Maybe he knew that. I think he did. When he looked at me from the angle where he obviously had to tilt his head downwards, his lips were twitching.