A bright flash of lightning briefly blinded him, immediately followed by a crash of thunder so loud, he swore the house shook.
McKenna jerked, then took a step closer to him. Tank wasn’t sure if her response was instinctive or intentional, but he didn’t care. He pulled her into his arms, both to offer comfort and warmth, though the second wasn’t going to happen as long as they stood there in wet clothing.
The rain pelted against the windows as the wind picked up.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but I swear it’s coming down harder,” she observed, still tucked within his arms, the sound of her voice slightly muffled from where her face was pressed against his chest.
“You’re right. You should get out of these wet clothes, Mouse, or you’ll get sick.”
She lifted her head, though she remained in his arms. “Is that a genuine concern, or are you just trying to get me out of my clothes?”
He chuckled at what he was certain she meant as a joke. The laugh was fake because he’d love to get her out of her clothing. “Is it working?”
McKenna snorted. “Sort of. I’m going to go change. Maybe you should hang out until the rain dies down.”
He nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. Not keen on going back out in that storm right now.”
“I’ll grab you that jersey you loaned me,” she offered. “It’s probably the only thing I have that will fit you.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“I can toss the rest of our clothes in the dryer while we wait for the storm to pass.”
Tank watched her walk upstairs, delighted by the way things had turned out. He’d offered to walk her to her door in the hopes of another kiss. Getting to spend more time with her—while half dressed—was an even better opportunity.
Tank slipped off his shoes and socks, both of which were soaked through, and then used his towel to wipe up the puddles they’d made on the floor.
When she returned, Tank had to take a second to compose himself…because his drenched jeans were too tight to conceal his reaction.
For one thing, he couldn’t understand why his cock was reacting so strongly at all, since all she’d done was throw on pajamas. Bright red pajamas covered in Mickey Mouse’s smiling face.
Tank grinned, and she shrugged good-naturedly.
“I told you. My mom goes overboard on the Mickey nickname. Like, way over.”
“I like the pajamas.” She probably didn’t believe him, but he really did. While she was gone, she’d also pinned her hair up in those Mouseketeer buns on the top of her head, the entire look completely adorable and so her.
As much as he loved her hair down, he was also becoming a huge fan of the buns.
“Here.” She offered him the jersey he’d given her last week. At the time, she’d thanked him for letting her borrow it, though Tank had no intention of taking it back. He hadn’t lied about wanting to see her in his shirt.
He followed her to her living room, looking around. This was the first time he’d been in her house, never making it beyond the front door. The room looked like McKenna. It was neat and tidy but also screamed of comfort. There were colorful throw pillows on the couch, a soft fleece blanket folded and hanging over the back. There were countless books on the built-in shelves that surrounded her television. Placed amidst the books were keepsakes and photographs. Most were of McKenna and an older woman with auburn hair who looked just like her.
Tank started unbuttoning his shirt, amused by the way McKenna’s gaze darted around the room, returning every few seconds to steal a peek. He took his time, giving her a show. While she flushed and tried to pretend she wasn’t looking, he stared straight at her, wanting her eyes on him.
Once he peeled the wet shirt off, he glanced around for somewhere to put it down.
McKenna’s hand reached out. “I’ll take it. My clothes are already in the dryer. I was waiting to grab yours before I started it.”
He handed her the shirt, then started to unbutton his jeans.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I can’t sit here in wet jeans, Mouse.”
“Yeah, but…”
“My boxer briefs are still relatively dry.”
