She looks at me and rolls her eyes like that makes no sense at all. Then she starts to shrug the other shirt over her sweater.
“You’re gonna ditch the sweater too.”
“Why do I need to ditch the sweater?”
“Because it changes your silhouette. Everything comes off but the new shirt.”
When she pauses, I add, “Eliza. That was an order.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you need to turn around.”
I turn toward the mirror, and she pulls off her sweater. The reflection gives me a perfect view of her delicate lace bra barely containing those voluptuous tits that have been driving me crazy all morning. My mind goes straight back into the gutter.
Shit. I should’ve just stared at the wall.
“Fine. I’m done. Now what?”
“Give me the shirt you took off.”
She hands me the blue T-shirt, and I lead her out of the bathroom, stuffing both shirts into the nearest waste receptacle.
“This is making me dizzy,” Dr. Wren says as we wait for the next train.
“Good. Means it’s working.”
“How do you know where we’re going?”
“I don’t.”
“That’s impossible. You have to have a plan.”
“The plan isunpredictability.”
“That’s not a plan, that’s chaos.”
“Sometimes chaos is the best plan.”
The blue line train arrives, and we board again. This time, I position us in the middle of the car, surrounded by other passengers on all sides. Dr. Wren ends up pressed even closer against me, her breasts against my chest, her face tilted up toward mine.
The position sends heat racing through my system again. Wrong time, wrong place, but my body doesn’t care about tactical considerations when she’s looking at me with those green eyes.
“Cooper,” she says quietly, “I need to understand what’s happening between us.”
“Nothing’s happening.”
A whole lot is happening. I’m just not going to admit it to her.
“That’snot true.”
“It’s tactical necessity.” And I’m trying to convince myself as much as her. “I’m saving your life. That’s what’s happening.”
“That’s not true. There’s more?—”
“Like what? More what?”
“The kiss. Both kisses.”
“Don’t try to overthink it.”
