I grab for the shampoo, readying to squirt a dollop into my hand before he snatches the bottle. “You can’t get soap in your wound. I’ll do it.” “You don’t hav—” “Did you think I came in here to merely watch?” “I—well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past you to be a creeper.” “I wouldn’t put it past me, either,” he retorts, squeezing out the shampoo into his palm. “Maybe that’s why I need to touch you so badly.”
