Page 17 of Fractured Heart

“I just don’t want him to know, okay?” I blush.

“I…” Tate hesitates. “Hey, you must be tired.”

I nod, even though I’m anything but.

“Me too.” Tate stretches his muscular arms over his head. His shirt slowly rides up, and my gaze locks on the thin strip of muscular abs he reveals. When the fabric slides back down, and my gaze slides back up, Tate responds with a slow smile that turns into a knowing grin. “We should go to bed.”

“Bed?” I squeak. My insides go all crazy and I feel my face turn hot. I know Tate couldn’t possibly be interested in me, but the way he’s looking at me right now says otherwise.

His eyes lock on mine and his jaw tightens. “Wait here,” he says softly.

I stare after him as he disappears down the hall. Where is he going? And why was he looking at me like that? Did he change his mind and decide he’s interested in me? He did say we should go to bed right after he caught me checking him out.

My palms start to sweat. I just freaked out at the thought of a mere kiss. Actually sleeping together? I wipe my hands on my jeans. I’m not ready for that! I have to get out of here!

“Roonie?” Tate asks as I reach for the doorknob. “I thought you might want to take a bath.”

“A bath?” I repeat, turning to face him. Tate gestures at me with the pile of stuff in his hands: a stack of towels, a robe, and a new toothbrush.

I almost moan. That’s how badly I want that bath. I’m covered in dirt, like a mermaid from a muddy riverbank—if there were mermaids in muddy riverbanks. It’s everywhere, all over my body, and coating my itchy scalp.

It makes me self-conscious and I wish I looked cleaner, prettier. I don’t know why I thought Tate might want to sleep with me, or even kiss me. There’s no way he’s attracted to me when I look the way I do now.

“Is there someone at the door?” Tate asks.

“What?” I glance down at my hand, which is still on the doorknob. “I was just making sure it was locked,” I lie, turning the lock counterclockwise.

“You unlocked it.” Tate grins at me.

“Oh, sorry.” I quickly turn the lock again, returning it to the way it was.

Tate grins. “The bathroom’s just this way.”

“I just need to take off my shoes.” I gesture at the pristine, shiny floor. “They’re covered in mud.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tate shrugs, gesturing at his own muddy sneakers.

I still feel guilty as I follow him across the hall. My squeaky shoes leave muddy footprints on the living room floor, making me cringe. The only consolation is that Tate’s do the same. He opens a door down the hall from Charles’s room, and I instantly forget about everything else.

The bathroom’s huge, with marble countertops and a potted plant by the sink. How does it even survive without natural light? Before I can ask, I get distracted by the giant hot tub.

Tate bends down to pour some vanilla-scented liquid into it, and I can’t help checking him out as he leans across the tub to turn on the tap. The sound of running water echoes through the small room and the tub slowly fills with bubbles. Tate sets the pile of stuff on a counter and then looks from me to the hot tub and back. I follow his gaze and feel a blush warming my cheeks.

“I’ll leave you to relax. You’ve had a pretty rough day.” Tate gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it still sends a wave of heat through me. “Do you want me to grab you something to drink?”

“N-no, I’m fine,” I whisper, my gaze moving down to where his hand is resting on my shoulder, then back up to his face. I wonder what would happen if I asked Tate to join me. He’d probably turn and run the other way. I know he would, but I can’t stop thinking about the washboard abs I glimpsed earlier.

My brain conjures an image of him rising from the hot tub, the fabric of his swim trunks weighed down and clinging to his body. Would he even wear swim trunks? Or nothing at all?

“I’ll see you soon.” Tate smiles and gives my shoulder one final squeeze. I feel the warm imprint of his palm long after he lets go and a sigh of longing escapes. Tate glances back at me and gives me a heated look, but it’s probably all in my imagination.

It has to be, because he turns away and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. Then, his footsteps quickly retreat down the hall and I’m left standing alone in the middle of the empty bathroom.

Chapter 9

I lock the bathroom door and start to undress. My mud-caked clothes cling to my body and I struggle to take them off. It takes a lot longer than it should and my bruised ribs throb in protest. When I’m finally done, it’s a huge relief, but I also feel extremely self-conscious. Tate and Charles are just a few doors away.

If I wanted to, I could step out into the hall and…I shake my head. I am not running through the hallway naked like some crazy person. Then, I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and realize that I already look completely insane.