Wringing out the suds, I cuss my way through working the soaked top over my chest.
What a pain in the ass.
At least I don’t reek anymore.
She’s in the kitchen when I push through the swinging doors.
“What happened to you? Did you drown?” She breaks out in laughter and moves close enough to flatten her palm on my shoulder. “Why on earth are you all wet?”
“I stank. I didn’t get a chance to take a shower before I left home.” My stomach knots with my admission.
Her mouth purses as she glances at my chest. “I didn’t think you smelled bad.” She backs up, eyes still locked on my pecs. “But if you want to have a wet t-shirt contest by yourself, you won first prize.”
The heat of her gaze sears into my skin before she shakes her head and pushes past me.
“Maybe not?” she mutters so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
What does that mean?
Chapter 12
Val
He isn’t a kid.Or a teen.
It’s getting harder and harder not to see him for what he is.
A damn fine as shit man with a broad chest, a deep voice, and fuckingabs to die for.
My self imposed celibacy is starting to feel like a burden, but there’s no way I want a relationship. I’ve learned the hard way that putting my trust in anyone is the path to heartache.
Shit, it’s been six years since that Halloween from hell. When Chris let his hidden monster out.
Not that I didn’t have a clue. He left enough bruises on me during our brief marriage, I should have known he had a darker side that he barely held back.
Yet he turned on not only his best friend, but mine too.
Sawyer doesn’t seem like that. If anything, the complete opposite.
Except I’m a dozen years older than him and he’s Scotty’s best friend.
But damn, those veiny arms of his can wrap me anytime.
I avoid him the rest of his shift because I must be freaking ovulating to be having these kinds of thoughts aboutSawyer.
After the lights go out in the bar and I head upstairs to my apartment over my office, I can’t stop thinking about him.
The way his wet shirt clung to the lines of his muscles, the hollow of his belly button.
And the way that the dark trail of fun was highlighted just above the buckle of his jeans.
Fuck.
Maybe a shot of tequila will make the memory go away?
No? How about two?
By four, heat is racing through my body remembering him climbing the ladder. The flash of skin when he raised his arms.
