Connor emerges in a temperate puff of steam. His cheeks are pink, his hair wet and dripping. His neck is wet too. So are his shoulders.
He’s wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped low on his waist.
Shit. I did not think this through.
His shoulders are broad, his clavicles prominent. There’s a dip at the base of his throat that makes my eyes drift down.
They land on a stripe of silvery skin. Pink and angry. Stretching vertically all the way down to the base of his sternum.
“Sorry.” Connor’s hand floats up to cover it, and his smile fades. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this. Mostly naked and self-conscious and unsure about it.
I don’t like it.
“Don’t be an ass,” I say, tapping his hand away and shocking myself. “Scars are sexy. Everyone knows that.”
My eyes drift up and land on his Adam’s apple. It rises slowly and drops quickly. A husk spins inside it as a throaty laugh washes over me and makes me feel like I’m floating.
It’s a hellish day in the housing department. Mondays are always busy, what with the backlog of maintenance issues and aggravated annoyances caused by students who don’t like each other being forced to spend the weekend in close quarters.
On top of that, I have a major task on my to-do list that somehow managed to slip my mind last week.
A reminder pops up on my phone again, driving the point home. I groan inwardly. I know exactly what the reminder says. I’ve already hitRemind Me Laterfour times.
Walk back the crush/Tuesdays at Crema situation.
Nice of me to remind myself about it. Surprisingly diligent and very unlike me.
Pity I didn’t add a note on how to go about it.
Without anyone else bringing it up, I can’t think of how to steer our workplace conversation to get it to land on my Tuesday escapades. I have to do something, though, and fast. I made it work last week, but I don’t relish the idea of hiding for thirty minutes or more, without so much as a goddamn hot beverage as compensation, every Tuesday for the rest of my life.
Not that I’ll be working here for the rest of my life, but still.
It’s such a fucking mess. I wish I knew how to handle it. I wish I could just swing by Crema tomorrow and pick up a coffee, at least. That would lighten my suffering considerably. Obviously, I can’t do that. I mean, maybe I could do it once or twice, but I can’t do it every week. Randomly running into Connor every week would be suspicious as hell.
The thing is, I know Georgie now, and she’s lovely. She was easy to talk to and fun. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to hang out with her and Connor.
I’m not saying I want to.
I’m just saying it wouldn’t be terrible.
29
Lennon
“So,”Ihearmyselfsay, “any plans for the day?”
Fuck, I hate myself for stooping this low. If I keep this shit up, there really won’t be any explanation for my behavior other than that I might, in fact, have a very slight crush on Connor Lockwood.
“Nothing much,” he replies, looking up from a bowl of granola with Greek yogurt and honey. He’s standing at the counter, eating, waiting for the machine to spit out a second cup of coffee for him. “Tuesdays are pretty chill for me. I only have one class this morning.”
“Only one class?” I parrot, doing things with my eyebrows that I think I’ve seen normal people do in response to this type of information.
“Jesus fucking fuck,” I mutter to myself as I get into my car and close the door. “I’m a mess.”
Out of spite, I punch out a couple of angry messages and send them to Havi.
