You had cursed your own answer a million times over by now — the moment you'd foolishly agreed to share a bath with him, never once imagining your precious, carefully curated gels and shampoos would fall under siege the second steam filled the room.

"Please!"

He fixes you with that look — a shameless, pleading gaze that belied the absurdity of his request. As if the price tag alone weren't reason enough to refuse, the shampoo wasn't even suited for his hair, and he damn well knew it.

You ignore him with practiced resolve, fingertips working the lather through your scalp, eyes screwed shut against the suds. Then, behind you — soft, measured breathing. Too deliberate. Too close.

He's trying to steal that shampoo again.