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Loping across the room, I duck into the bathroom and kick the door shut behind me. I lean on the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
What are you doing right now, flirting with Trixie Lovell? She’s off-limits, dude.
No matter how cute your dick thinks she is. Or how amazing you know she’d taste if you buried your head between her thighs.
No.
I cannot go there, no matter how delicious she would be.
Squeezing toothpaste on the bristles of my brush, I do a quick run over my teeth, rinse and spit. Take a quick piss, easing a bit of the pressure from my cock.
With a deep breath, I throw the door open and strut out of the bathroom. Trixie’s bent over, rummaging through her open suitcase. Her shirt’s gaping, giving me a full-on view of her luscious breasts, her nude lace bra.
Damn.
Even better than I imagined. So much for relieving the dick situation.
She must sense my gaze on her because she lifts her head, her eyes level with my crotch.
Fanfuckingtastic.
I shift, tightening my glutes, trying to minimize the stiffy. She snickers.
She definitely noticed.
I stare back—the best defense is a good offense, after all—and a pink flush creeps from her chest all the way up her neck as she realizes I can see straight down her shirt.
She pops up, smoothing the T-shirt down. “I was just getting my pjs and stuff,” she stammers.
“You can unpack tomorrow. I’ll share the drawers.” I wave at the dresser magnanimously and she scoffs.
“Oh gee, thanks. You done in there?” She points at the bathroom and I nod.
“Yep. I’m hitting the hay.” I stretch, throwing my arms out wide and yawning.
“Great. You think you can spot me a pillow? I don’t suppose you have an extra sheet or something?”
Her guard drops for a moment, and for the first time since she burst into the apartment, Trixie seems a little lost, maybe even a bit sad.
Crossing to the bed, I snag a pillow and the blue-and-white quilt I’ve had since I was a kid, the one my mom made for me when I was a baby.
“Here.” I thrust the bedding at her, careful not to make contact with her incredibly soft skin.
Her eyes flicker to my face, her expression softening. “Thanks.”
Then her shield slams firmly back in place, her armor back on, tighter than ever. She tosses the pillow and quilt on the couch and huffs into the bathroom, banging the door shut behind her.
Leaving me standing and staring after her like the world’s biggest teenager.
Lusting after his best friend’s little sister.
I’m not sure how long this arrangement’s going to last. Because Trixie Lovell is exactly my type—and she’s absolutely correct about me.
I don’t do relationships. I’m not a forever type of guy. Besides, I’m only in town for my parents’ dedication and to rest and recuperate before I head back to Hollywood.
Back to my real life, my career.
No way can I get sucked into anything with Trixie Lovell, no matter how amazing her tits are—or how bright she lights me up inside, even in places that have been dark for a good, long while.
