Page 92 of Trusting You
Why did I agree to this?
I’m ready to throw in the towel—not literally, as I’m still in one—but maybe this isn’t such a bright idea. I’m not here for much longer. There’s no reason to befriend these guys, and I’m still mad at Locke. So why am I allowing him the tiniest fraction of leeway?
“Part of me was hoping you’d go for the purple.”
Locke gives a lopsided smile, one I’m sure has led many an unsuspecting lady to his bed.
“Definitely the black one,” I say firmly, then spin around toward his bedroom for entirely different purposes.
I pretend he’s not staring at the bottom of my ass cheeks as I retreat. This towel is way too goddamned small. I pull at the hem to redeem some modesty, but I hear his chuckle before I shut the bedroom door and get changed.
By the time I’m dressed and out of his room, Locke’s in the bathroom, the stream of the shower going strong. He’s left the door cracked open a tiny fraction, some steam escaping out.
“Crap,” I say. Again.
My hair dryer and makeup bag are still in there.
Suck it up, Jameson. He’s just a guy. A naked one.
Tentatively, I knock. “Uh, Locke?”
“Yeah?” he says over the shower. “Is Lily up?”
“No, she’s fine. Um, I need to get my stuff off the counter. Is that okay?”
“You don’t have to ask.” Despite the sound of the water, I sense his amusement.
I creep in anyway like I’m a girl who’s never seen a penis before. But this is Locke’s penis. An entirely different species, because while I’ve only seen a glimpse of him, the entirety of Lachlan Hayes is the kind of body only actors get to see—or models. Not regular people like me, leading boring lives—
Glass doors.
Why didn’t I remember the shower has glass panels? I was just in it!
I clap a hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers and fumbling blindly through the steam for what I need on the counter. Bottles fall and clack.
“You look gorgeous.” His voice is low, and it echoes against the tiles like a lion circling its prey.
“Shut up,” I say to him. But my eyes betray me, and I’m already over there, devouring all he has to offer.
Because he’s not shy. While behind steamed glass, the condensation doesn’t disguise anything. He’s standing there, facing the showerhead but looking at me. And I’m looking at him.
And he’s completely naked and shining, his blue eyes piercing through the fog. And I have to remember, with every iota I possess, that I can’t be attracted to him.
I gulp. Look down.
He’s clearly attracted to me.
And he’s staring like he’s remembering his mouth on me.
My heart goes hot, molten, pooling its liquid heat into my core. I’m basically an animal with only instincts to rely on since all humanity has left this body.
“Found it!” I scream, way too loudly, and clutch my cosmetics bag to my chest. The blow dryer’s electrical cord clatters on the floor behind me as I scramble out of there as fast as my bare feet on slippery floors allow.
The buzzer screeches as I’m exiting the bathroom in a flurry, and I’m 100% saved by the bell.
“Come in!” I chirp through the speakers, then go about untangling the dryer’s cord and search for an available outlet.
I find one in the kitchen, just atop the counter, and figure there is as good a space as any to flip my hair over and start blow drying.