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My eyes widen when his hands settle at the waistband of his joggers.
“Don’t—”
Too late.
The gray fabric gets shoved down powerful thighs and well-defined calves before he kicks it away. And then he’s standing in nothing more than a pair of form-fitting black boxer briefs that hug every sinewy muscle.
Did I say holy hell already?
Well, I’m saying it again.
Holy hell.
No man should look this good.
My gaze rises from his legs that would give tree trunks a run for their money until it settles on his package. That’s all it takes for my mouth to turn bone dry until swallowing becomes an impossibility.
He’s, um…big.
Like, really big.
Fun fact—the longer I stare, the more of a rise I get out of him.
Pun intended.
Heat crawls up my cheeks as arousal pools in my core like warmed honey. It takes effort to drag my gaze away and stare out the window. The spectacular view does nothing for me. In fact, I don’t even see it.
All I see is Colby.
“You should take that shower so I can do the same.” As unaffected as I want to sound, nothing could be further from the truth. Even I can hear the thick tension vibrating in my voice like a live wire.
“Or,” he says conversationally, “we could conserve both time and water by showering together.”
I give him a bit of side eye. It seems like the safest option considering that I just went a little stupid when looking directly at him.
I keep my tone clipped. “No thanks.”
He shrugs before rifling through his duffle. “You sure there’s no way I can convince you to do your part and help save the planet?”
“I’m good.”
“Your loss.”
Probably.
With that, he swings around, sauntering into the bathroom like he doesn’t have a care in the world. As soon as he turns away, my head whips around to watch him. And yeah, his backside is just as firm and fine as the front. I wilt as soon as the lock on the bathroom door clicks into place.
How the hell am I going to share space with this guy for the entire weekend?
I squeeze my eyes shut and repeat my new mantra.
I will not complicate my life.
I will not complicate my life.
I will not complicate my life.
Because that’s exactly what Colby McNichols is.
A complication.
10
BRITT
An hour later and I feel a ton better. The shower has managed to work wonders. It’s like I’m a new person. One who’s more than capable of resisting the baby-faced assassin who I’ve been forced to shack up with for the weekend.
Let him do his worst.
I can handle it.
No problem.
I give myself one final perusal in the mirror, swiveling one way and then the other as the television drones in the background. The strapless silvery dress hugs my curves and hits mid-thigh. This is the first time since walking away from my life in LA that I’ve bothered to make an effort with my appearance. Even when the girls and I danced the night away at Blue Vibe, I kept everything lowkey.
Another first for me—applying my own makeup and styling my own hair. There’s always been a glam squad to take care of it. Even for the casual shoots when I was working out at the gym it was full glam, although more subtle to make it seem like I wasn’t wearing anything at all.
Fun fact—filming a reality show isn’t about filming reality.
But that doesn’t matter. People still eat it up and want more.
Just like Stella claimed, it’s cotton candy for the brain. It’s a mindless way to escape what’s happening in the world for an hour or so.
I can’t help but silently study the person reflected back at me.
It’s taken six months and a lot of soul searching to realize that Bebe is nothing more than a persona.
A studio creation.
Deep down inside, it’s not who I am.
Or want to be.
It finally feels like the shackles of the past are being broken and falling away.
I feel freer than I have in a long time.
The sound of a low whistle is what drags my thoughts from the past. Even though I’m fairly confident that Colby doesn’t have a clue as to who Bebe is, my muscles constrict, and air gets trapped at the back of my throat as I send a cautious look over my bare shoulder to meet his gaze.
“You look gorgeous.” His voice is low and gravelly as if it’s been dredged from the bottom of the ocean. The deep timbre of it does funny things to my insides.
Heat seeps into my cheeks. “Thank you.”
I hate that the compliment means so much more coming from him.
My gaze roves over his length. I’m used to seeing Colby in joggers or jeans and a sweatshirt. The unofficial uniform of the college athlete.
Or maybe just college dudes in general.
It’s a campus epidemic.
Tonight, he’s wearing a light pink button-down that showcases his broad shoulders and gray slacks that fit him to perfection. A punch of arousal hits me deep in my core.
