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That’s right, take it in, Roomie. And good luck blaming the drool dripping down your chin on acting.
But then I see the rest of him, my eyes coasting down his bare chest because the motherfucker is in nothing but a towel, water still dripping down his body, fresh out of the shower.
He leans against his doorframe, corded arms crossed over his damp chest, stupid fucking dimples concaving with a smirk. “Indigo Ivers, are you doing…dishes?”
I roll my eyes. “Is this what your wet dreams look like, Shay?”
“Essentially.”
He pops off the doorframe, sauntering into the kitchen, and the rarely seen smug smile across his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my room?”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
“Because this is my house.”
I feel him behind me, watching me as I swirl a sponge around a dirty bowl. His hands brace the counter on either side of me, his chest to my back, and the heat from his shower radiates off him, warming me.
He’s naked under that towel, and every part of me wants to lean back and feel his body on mine.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Adding this image into your spank bank for your next lonely night on the road?”
His chest rumbles. “Yes.” His palm glides against my lower back as he backs away, giving me space. “Good morning, by the way.”
I swallow down the low moan from his simple touch. “Morning. How was your road trip?”
“It was all right. We split. Two wins, two losses. You’re leaving on yours today?”
Putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, I close it and turn to face him. Perfectly lean muscles across a broad chest, obliques tight and curving downward, creating a visual path I’d love to follow. Dusting of dark hair under his navel and—dear God, get it together, woman.
He laughs, breaking my trance. I love the sound but hate the haughtiness of it.
“Go put some goddamn clothes on.”
“You were the one who was obsessing over me being shirtless the first time you came over here.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I realized how annoying you were.”
A thumb dusts his lower lip as his wandering gaze works its way over my bare legs. He must know what he’s doing to me, and honestly, it’s not fair. He’s already turned me down once.
“Ryan.” I cock my head. “Really. What are you doing?”
“Just playing the game you started.” He pushes off the counter, taking two steps towards me. His index finger hooks under the hem of my shorts, igniting my skin with goosebumps. “Wearing these itty-bitty shorts and bending over in my kitchen. Don’t act all innocent, Blue.”
He turns away from me, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge while I inhale a needed breath. How is he so unaffected? My entire body is on fire because I need to get laid and the only person I want to do it is my fake boyfriend who is currently walking around our apartment in nothing but a towel.
Did he truly feel nothing from that kiss? Is he not sexually attracted to me in the slightest?
I slide in front of the silverware drawer before he can pull out a spoon.
He sighs. “Indy, what are you doing?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
He rolls his eyes.
