It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

“Nine five nine five,” I repeat, noting it’s the same number combination as
his phone. He’s a man of commitment. I like it.
His security code isn’t a key to his house, but it feels almost as significant.
He places my bag on his couch and then flips on the living room light. My
back is to the wall, and I’m standing out of the way, watching him. It’s a
good thing he informed me that he liked it when I was watching him at work,
because watching Atlas is my favorite pastime. I could live my life as a fly on
his wall and be content. “What’s your routine when you get home at night?”
Atlas tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
I gesture at the room. “What do you do when you get home at night?
Pretend I’m not here.”
He regards me silently. Then he walks toward me, pausing right in front of
me. He presses a hand onto the wall beside my head and leans in. “Well,” he
whispers. “First, I take off my shoes.”
I hear one of his shoes being kicked off, then the other. He’s suddenly an
inch lower and even closer to my mouth. He feathers his lips lightly across
mine, sending fireworks popping beneath my skin. “Then…” He kisses the
corner of my mouth. “I take a shower.” He pushes off the wall and backs
away, his eyes locked on mine in a dare.
He disappears into his bedroom.
I’m inhaling a steadying breath when I hear his shower start running. I slip
off my shoes and leave them next to his, then I follow the path he took down
the hallway. I gently push open the half-closed door and take in his bedroom
in person for the first time. I’ve seen it in our video chats, but I didn’t come
in here when I came to his house the first time. I recognize his black
headboard and the denim-blue accent wall behind it, but the rest of his
bedroom is new to me. I pass over everything in search of the bathroom door.
He left it open. His shirt is on the floor by the doorway.
I don’t know why my heart is pounding like it’ll be my first time seeing
Atlas without clothes. It’s not like I’m brand-new to this, or him, or even to
showering with him. But every time I’m with him, it’s like my heart gets
amnesia.
I make it to the doorway of his bathroom, disappointed to see that his
shower is hidden behind half of a stone wall. I can hear the breaks and
splashes in the shower stream, and I feel a tightening in every curve of my
body.