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“Jack, I would appreciate it immensely if you removed your foot from my arm pit.”
So, the bath tub wasn’t exactly intended for three people.
Max looked pointedly at Jack’s foot, squished under her right arm and pressing into the side of her breast. He made an awkward attempt to slide it behind her arm, but instead smacked her cheek and splashed Anne in the face.
“Fuck you, Jack,” Anne groaned, wiping water from her eyes.
“I told you—we needed—a better tub—“ Jack grimaced, carefully maneuvering his leg so it was hooked behind Max’s waist.
Max and Jack were on either side of the oval tub. Anne’s lithe form was in the middle; she alternated between tucking herself in the lap of either of her loves. She and Max could share the tub comfortably, but Jack’s lanky legs complicated the equation.
“If you next deal goes through, we can have the most luxuriest tub known to man,” Max said, sinking deeper in the hot water.
“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.” Jack pointed a faux-accusatory finger. “Once I redeem myself from the pearl fiasco, we shall be bathing in the richest oils Nassau can provide.”
He squeezed a plastic bottle of bubble bath into the water. “In the mean time, this will have to suffice.”
“It will do.” Max closed her eyes in contentment. Anne was draped across her lap, head pillowed on her breasts and feet resting on Jack’s shoulders. Her wet hair was spread over her back; it only partially concealed the knotted scars and burn marks left on her skin from a time she rarely spoke of.
“When this deal is finished, we’ll have a tub so big we could fit the whole of the Walrus in it,” Jack ran his hands idly down Anne’s legs. Chunks of foam clung to them as the bubbles crept higher.
Anne opened one eye suspiciously. “I reckon I’ll pass on that one.” Her hand found Max’s thigh under the water. “Old Flint don’t look like the cleanliest fellow around.”
“You would be hard pressed to find a tub to fit Billy in,” Max noted.
“Oh, screw the lot of them,” Jack exhaled forcefully, blowing a spray of bubbles into Anne’s hair. “They can get their own damn tub.”
Max reached over the edge of the tub for a bottle of shampoo, and began lathering Anne’s hair. Her fingers worked their way, strong and sure, through her scalp until Anne closed her eyes and sighed.
Jack watched the process with enjoyment. Seeing Anne relaxed and vulnerable was a rare, but always gratifying, sight.
“You know, “ he said, puncturing the silence. “it will be rather a risky business. Perhaps we ought to have Silver and Scott assist us—they could keep a sharp eye on Rogers. Let us know if he catches wind of the plan.”
Anne snorted, her eyes still closed. “You won’t get Mr. Scott doing any double agent shit if Guthrie is involved, that’s a fact.”
“Besides,” she opened one eye languidly and smirked. “My middle name is ‘Danger’.”
“That’s a lie.” Jack said promptly. “It’s ‘Cutie Pie’.”
Max erupted in laughter, and Anne sloshed half the tub’s water into Jack’s face.
“Fuck you, Jack.”