She’d put her hair in a loose braid today, and I watch as she undoes it so I can wash it out. The softness of her long hair glides between my fingers, and against my better judgment I use my hand to wash away a leaf from her bare back. My fingertips slide down her soft, wet skin, and I know if I don’t stop, I’m going to be untying that bikini in about two seconds.

I manage to muster up the willpower from some godforsaken place inside myself and pull my hand away.

“I need ...