You step out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped tightly around your body. The hot shower has left your skin flushed and sensitive, steam still clinging to the mirror and the tips of your wet hair. Your soaked dress lies in a sodden heap on the tile floor; you couldn’t bring yourself to put it back on.
Your eyes catch on the dresser against the far wall. It’s old, scarred wood, military surplus probably. You hesitate, then open the top drawer.
You find men’s clothes. Big ones.
Black T-shirts folded neatly. A couple of gray henleys. Several pairs of dark sweatpants and cargo shorts. Hoodies that look like they’d swallow you whole. The scent hits you immediately, aftershave leather, soap, that unmistakable masculine musk.
You already knew someone was probably staying here. N
