Page 7 of Librarian & the Rockstar

I drag the towel down, meeting my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. I look like a drowned rat. A pale, shivering, oversized drowned rat. And my whole bra is visible through my shirt.

"Awesome," I growl, furiously drying myself with the towel. Not that it helps much. There is no helping this. Absolutely none at all. I just met my idol looking like I'm auditioning to be the girl who crawls out of the TV in that one horror movie that scared the ever-living shit out of literally everyone.

Jazz is going to love this.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm still stalling in the bathroom when Ash knocks on the door.

I freeze before spinning that way. For a split second, I contemplate shoving myself through the tiny window and disappearing into the storm. I can be a figment of his imagination, something conjured up by stress or exhaustion or whatever it is that brought him to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

"I'll be right out," I say instead.

"I've got dry clothes for you," he calls through the door. "And I found the dryer. If you'll pass yours out, I'll put them in for you."

I strip at lightning speed. At least until I get to my bra and panties, and then I hesitate. Do I really want Ash to have his hands all over my mismatched bra and panties?

Why is that even a question?

I strip out of them, dropping them onto the pile with the rest of my clothes. At the last second, I shove them between the shirt and skirt, trying to hide them. Mostly because I might die if he sees the label and realizes panties come in that particular size.

If the press is to be believes, he's used to dating models who have never been more than a zero in their lives. My panties ate a zero.

I'm not ashamed of who I am or my body. I work out. I eat as well as I can. It is what it is. That does not mean I want one of the biggest rockstars in the country to know what size panties I wear, either.

"Here," I say, shoving the pile through the tiniest crack in the door while trying to hide behind it at the same time.

He grabs my pile and hands me a dry one, but before I can close the door, his foot is wedged between it and the jamb, stopping me. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Yes, fine." I push against the door, trying to close it on him. "Just trying to dry off."

"Feel free to use whatever you need. You're welcome to anything while you're here," he says, his gruff voice soft.

"Thanks." I nudge the door again, but it still doesn't budge.

He's just standing there, like he's waiting for me to say something, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. Come fuck me right now isn't an option, right?

Right.

"Um…"

"Oh. Shit." He yanks his foot away so fast, I pitch forward, accidentally slamming the door in his face.

"Jesus Christ," I groan, resting my forehead against it. "Could you possibly be more awkward, Loralei?"

"Sorry!" he shouts through it, laughter in his voice. He heard me. Awesome.

I dress slowly in the t-shirt and sweats he brought me, trying to forestall the inevitable for as long as possible. I have to do it eventually, though, right? I can't hide out in the bathroom forever.

Why is he hiding out? No one just rents a cabin in the middle of nowhere for no reason. Last I heard, his band was working on music for their next album. They're supposed to be in the studio.

Clearly, I heard wrong.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it, and then step out into the hall. Rain is still coming down in sheets outside, falling loudly on the tin roof. But it feels a lot safer in here than it did out there.

Did I really almost get smashed by a falling tree today?

I hurry down the hall, not prepared to think about that right now, only to stop in the living room when I spot Ash kneeling in front of the fireplace, carefully placing logs. He's changed into a faded blue t-shirt that stretches across his muscular back and a pair of black sweats.

"Hey," he says, turning to look at me. "I started a fire. Figured you might still be cold."