Why him? What was it about Ford Priestley that got under my skin?
He was… older than me. By over ten years. So maybe that was it. He felt secure. Felt wise. Felt…
A heavy sigh rolled out of me and I just barely resisted the urge to bang my head on the tiled wall of the shower.
I wiped the water out of my eyes and wondered why the spray felt colder. Had I really been in here that long? Had I really let myself get completely lost in my thoughts?
To be fair, they were deep thoughts.
They were confusing and all over the place. Practically exhausting. That was probably why I had a huge urge to take a nap.
As much as I tried not to think about Ford, I couldn’t seem to stop.
I didn’t understand why.
We had been breathing the same air for days now, so of course things had shifted. We went from being strangers to practically being roommates.
But it wasn’t like I’d opened up to him.
Not like he had to me, giving me little blips into his life here and there, with no real pressure behind it.
Think of something else,I begged myself as I roughly scrubbed shampoo into my hair as quickly as possible.
Milo.
And the plan that he’d come up with to get into the FBI systems using our new inside guy.
That was somethingelse.
Except, I didn’t want to think about Milo while I was in the shower. Pretty sure Remy wouldn’t be happy with that either, even if I wasn’t thinking of Milo in a perverted way.
I cringed, then shook my head as I slammed my hand down on the knob, cutting the water off.
Showers were for cleaning, not for thinking. Or anything else.
They certainly weren’t for working out whatever fucking issues brought more confusion and panic to my life.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and dashed down the hall to my room, shutting the door once I was inside.
A nasty sound of aggravation tore up my throat as I flopped back on the bed.
I needed this job… favor… whatever the hell it was, I needed itover. As soon as Ford got his life fixed and I went back to Atlanta and the team where I belonged, all of this would go away.
The fluttering in my stomach at the thought made me realize it might not be that simple.
What did it mean?
Why was my body reacting strangely to the thoughts I was having? To the idea of leaving Ford?
Why the fuck was this happening to menow?
The knock on my door rang out in my room like a shotgun blast.
I knifed up, eyes wide as I looked at the door.
“Yeah?” I called out, my voice cracked like I was guilty of something.
The door swung open and there stood Ford in the white tank top I let him borrow and black pants. His face and arms were glistening. His hair a little damp as it flopped in his eye. Had he been working out? I didn’t imagine there was much he could do here. Some running if he went outside. Some push-ups and sit-ups if he stayed in.
