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“I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, I’ll be in the next room.”

I frown. “You still sleep in your old room?”

“Like I said… I haven’t changed much since Mom died.” He slips back into the hallway. “Good night, Wynter.”

“Wait,” I call out.

He spins to face me. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have a T-shirt or something I can borrow?” I gesture down my frame. “Something a bit more comfortable than a sweater dress to sleep in.”

“Sure. Hang on.” He ducks into his room and returns with a shirt and a pair of gym shorts. “Here you go.”

As I reach for them, our fingers brush. Barely. It’s an innocent touch, gone in a fraction of a second, but my entire body reacts, heat shooting through my veins.

It’s because I’m drunk. That’s all. That’s the only reason I’m reacting this way.

“Thanks again.” I pull the clothes against my chest, as if they’re an impenetrable suit of armor.

Joshua holds my gaze for a beat, and I grip the clothes even tighter against me. Finally, he steps back and eases the door closed.

When I hear his footsteps retreat, I sink onto the mattress and close my eyes, taking a moment to collect myself and hopefully stop the room from spinning.

But as I melt into the soft duvet, I lift his shirt to my face and inhale, moaning as his scent surrounds me.

Yup.

I definitely need that vibrator.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JOSHUA

I don’t immediately move after leaving Wynter in the guest room. I just stand in the hallway, my body buzzing with adrenaline. All because Wynter Hayes is in my house.

I should go to bed. I’ve been going nonstop since early this morning. But I doubt I’ll be able to sleep right now. Not with how wired my body is.

Instead, I head downstairs and straight toward the wet bar, pouring several fingers of whiskey into a rocks glass and taking a long swallow as I sink onto the couch.

When I went for a run yesterday, the last thing I expected was to find the girl who’s had a starring role in all my teenage fantasies parked in her parents’ driveway.

And I definitely didn’t expect she’d spend the night in my house a day later.

Granted, she’s only here because she got drunk and doesn’t have a key. It’s still surreal to have Wynter Hayes under my roof. In the room right above me.

What’s she doing right now? Is she brushing her teeth? Washing her face? Stripping out of her dress? Removing her bra?

I throw back another long swallow of whiskey before adjusting myself, my erection straining against my jeans at the thought. I consider taking care of the tension that’s been building all day when a creaking floorboard overhead snaps me back to the present.

I listen as Wynter moves around the guest room, then opens the door, her footfalls light as she walks down the hallway. Seconds later, a pair of long, bare legs appears at the top of the stairs, followed by the rest of Wynter’s frame, her body clad in just my t-shirt and shorts.

Fuck. Me.

She’s not the first woman I’ve seen wearing my clothes. Claire has stolen more than her fair share of my shirts and hoodies. But seeing Wynter Hayes in my clothes makes it difficult to remember she’s my best friend’s sister.

The T-shirt bearing the logo of Holley Ridge hangs loose over her slim shoulders, tied in a knot on the side. My shorts don’t fit her any better, the waistband rolled several times, but they still sit low on her hips, baring a sliver of her perfect fucking skin.

I shift, trying to discreetly adjust myself. But nothing helps the throbbing. I snatch an accent pillow to cover the obvious bulge in my jeans.