“Lucky me.”
“I need you to tell me this is a bad idea. Remind me this is gonna make things worse between us in the long run.”
“Or maybe we just fuck it out and can finally stop driving each other insane?”
He looks down at me, his eyes dark with lust, and his jaw tightens.
“Now you are baiting me.” He grabs my hand and hauls me up to my feet again. I look at him quizzically. “Go take a shower.”
“What?”
“Like a cold shower? Ice cold. Go take one. Think this through. You still feel that way when you get back, then fine. But I’m calling a timeout after everything tonight.”
“Are you serious right now? You want me to take a cold shower when we’re trying to warm up?”
“Then take a warm shower, or a hot one—even better. Get your body temperature up and make sure your head is clear. Okay?”
“Tobias.”
“Go.” He gives me a look followed by a playful smack on my ass and I, for my part, listen to him.
EIGHT
Tobias
“Tobias?”I hear her call from the bathroom after the water shuts off.
“Yeah?”
“Could you um… in the hurry to get in here, I forgot a towel. There’s some in my closet in the bedroom. A little hanger cubby that has them in there. Would you mind?”
“No problem.” I hop up and head to her closet, opening the door to the small walk-in.
I turn the light on and look for the cubby she’s talking about. I spot them and grab one, but out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of Phantom colors. Which makes me curious. I know she’s a fan of the team. That she comes to games. I’d heard her and Harper talk enough to not be surprised they’re in here, but when I look closer, I realize one of the three shirts is a jersey. So I do the thing I shouldn’t and push them back to get a better look.
The T-shirts are from our division win and the conference championship a few years ago. The jersey is older too. A style we retired a while back. I slide the hanger back so I can see the name. Assuming it’ll be St. George or Lawton. It would fit with her temperament to love one of them, and it would’ve been Colt’s first year with the team when he was putting up insane rookie numbers. So my heart slams against my chest when I see WESTFIELD in big letters and my number on the back.
“Did you find it?” she calls out.
“Yep!” I practically croak the word, hurriedly pushing the jersey back into place.
I shut the door and then hurry down the hall, rapping my knuckles against the frame.
“I’m looking away,” I say preemptively as I hold the towel out and turn my head in the opposite direction.
She reaches for it and I feel her fingers brush over mine as she takes the towel, a waft of her shampoo and body wash enveloping me along with the steam from the shower.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and even looking away, I can feel her eyes on me.
I nod and then hurry back to the bedroom where I stand in the middle of it, running a hand over my face. I’m so utterly fucking confused right now. I’ve flirted with her endlessly since I met her and nothing. She’s never once acted like she was dazzled by being around me or even tried to pursue me. If it wasn’t for her occasional clandestine eye fucking, I wouldn’t even know she found me attractive at all. Yet she’s got my jersey in her closet, one she’s had foryears. This woman is going to be the death of me.
I edge the closet open again, the jersey taunting me, and I pull on it, flipping it over to the back again to look at it. Confirm one more time that I hadn’t just seen what I wanted to see there. That it isn’t all just a complete figment of my imagination.
Which is when I see it. Scrawled over the number on the back of the jersey.
My signature. My handwriting.
I rip it off the hanger and throw it on the bed. Because now I’m gonna need an explanation.
