I slept on the couch.
Breakfast wasn't anything special.
Greg toasted a couple of bagels and dug some less-than-fresh cream cheese out of his frig, but it was probably more than I would have had, so I wasn't complaining.
We talked about the game a bit and then he asked me the question:
"Do you want to take a shower?"
I knew he meant with him, but I played stupid.
"I'm feeling kinda grimy, yeah," I said. "Just point me in the direction of the towels."
We walked through his bedroom, to the matchbox of a bathroom.
"Soap and shampoo are in the stall," he said.
"Very cool. Thanks." I slid open the glass door and turned on the shower, testing the water with my hand.
When I realized that Greg wasn't going anywhere, I slipped off my t-shirt, pulled down my boxers and stood there.
"Pretty useless to claim modesty, huh?" I asked.
He laughed. "Do you mind? I figured we could talk some more while you shower."
"Talk away." I climbed in under the stream of water and started to soap up my chest and pits.
"Where do you live?"
"A pay-by-the-day rathole. Downtown," I answered. "I was stupid enough to think living cheaply made you look like an artist."
He laughed, again. "No, it doesn't."
"Nah. It just sucks."
"Ever think of moving?"
"Every day."
I started soaping up my stomach, then my legs, slowly working my way up my thighs and into my crotch.
"Why?" I let the water massage my back as I washed my hair, making it a point to let Greg see my soapy body by "accidentally" pressing it against the glass. "You know a place opening up?"
"Maybe. Someone I know. I'll check it out for you, if you want."
"Thanks."
