Doug: Water

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Water.
Her hair is soaked. It lies like seaweed on her head in straight yellow rivulets. Her back is against the porcelain wall of the shower, her head leaned back, eyes closed. All of her clothes are on.
“I hate you.” She whispers.
“I hate that you can do this to me. I hate everything about you. I hate that perfect half smile of yours. I hate that mussed up hair. I hate those gorgeous blue eyes. I hate the way you laugh when you’re right. I hate that you bite your nails when you think no one’s looking. I hate how easily I fell for you. I hate that you didn’t do anything to stop me.” She turns to look right at him.
“And most of all.” She says, her eyes locking on his. “I hate those bushy eyebrows.”
He chokes off laughter, staring down at her soaked body.
“Stop that.” She tries to stay angry, but fails, bursting into laughter as well.
“Why in the Hell would you take a shower with all your clothes on?” He asks, cocking his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.
“I hate that too.” She says, trying to do it herself and failing. “I wanted to see what it would feel like.”
“And?” he asks curiously, extending a hand.
She takes it, hauling her wet body to her feet. “Intersting. But also kind of pointless.” She begins to strip, tossing her wet clothes in the bathtub. As always, the sight of her body makes him breathless.
“Oh?” He tries to stay locked on to her face.
“Yes.” She says, moving up close and cupping his face in her hands. “Let me show you.”