“Nice ass.”
The man expressing his appreciation of Gray’s rear end resembled a walking, talking, disposable orgasm. Clothed in nothing but athletic shorts and sporting a sheen of sweat, he buried his broad shoulders, massive chest, and pronounced abs in the fridge like he hoped to cool off.
“Nice tatts.” She wasn’t kidding. The man’s entire upper back was a priceless piece of artwork. From shoulder to shoulder, a magnificent American eagle declared ownership over the prime real estate location. Superimposed from wingtip to wingtip were the scales of justice—two tattoos in one. Perfectly inked.
“Who’s the shirtless wonder?” she asked Chase, jerking her head in the direction of the fridge when he returned solo.
“Jesus Christ, Babbitt. Put a shirt on.”
Aimed over his shoulder, the man’s smile was lopsided, lazy, and sexy as hell. Gray bet his panty-dropping success rates were very high when he deployed it.
“Eat me. Who’s your girl?” he drawled in a Southern accent, closing the fridge door with enough force to set the contents rattling.
“I’m not his fucking girl.”
He leaned against the counter and tossed a red apple from hand to hand. “I didn’t say he was fuckingyou.” The apple made an abrupt trip to his lips, and the snap of teeth through firm flesh carried to where she stood. As she eyed the goods on display, his free hand trailed over a twelve-pack that suggested he spent a great deal of time in the gym when he wasn’t working out between the sheets.
“Mmph.” The only comeback she had with a mouth full of noodles, she’d set him straight on the fucking part later.
By his black glare, Chase wasn’t pleased about the direction the conversation had gone in. “Back off, Cody.” He took the container and spoon from her hands and set them on the table.
Cody cocked a brow, but before he could respond to the testosterone flare-up, a third male shuffled in, offering a decent distraction.
“Hey there, Doc. You look like shit. Shouldn’t you be catching some z’s?” Cody asked.
“He’s here for Gray.” The steel in Chase’s tone made her unstable.
They’d been over this. She didn’t need a doctor. She needed a lobotomy for putting up with this shit. “Like fuck he is.”
The sleepwalker’s rumpled shorts made an abrupt U-turn as he headed for the door, leading her to believe he might be smarter than his surfer looks suggested.
“Hold up, Doc,” Cody said.
Gray shot the shirtless wonder her best drop-dead stare. It had no effect on the bastard whatsoever.
Doc sighed, turned, and leaned against the doorjamb, hanging ten with arms and ankles crossed, waiting for the mess to be sorted.
“What’s wrong with her?” Cody asked.
Gray cut Chase off before he could respond. “Aside from a couple of bruises, nothing’s wrong with me.”
Chase snorted. “She has a hematoma the size of my hand on her left hip.” He brushed his fingers down her arm. “I just want him to look at it, Gray.”
Apparently, under the impression he could stun her stupid with his smoldering gaze, Gray decided to play along. “Fine, no touching.” Since she knew it would drive him crazy, she dropped her pants low around her thighs before he could order Cody out. Not a big deal, considering she had underwear on, but big enough to make Chase groan.
The sound made her positively giddy.
“Wow.” Cody popped his ass off the counter and stepped forward for a closer look. “That’s impressive. And slightly repulsive.”
“Shut up, Cody. What do you think, Jamie?” Chase asked.
Doctor Jamie Snow approached her with caution, proving he was a highly evolved individual, and crouching down, he put his dirty-blond bedhead at eye level with her hip.
He lifted a hand, and Gray took a fast step back, worried he intended to start poking and prodding. She came ass-first into full-body contact with a solid wall of muscle. Chase had her boxed in—again.
When the barefoot doctor finished scratching his fingers through his scruffy beard stubble, he looked up at them. Gray noted with interest the simple gold wedding band he twisted around his finger. “Is it getting any bigger?” he asked.
“No,” they said in unison.
