Rising to my feet, my fingers itch to touch her. To unwrap that towel and trace every inch of her with my tongue. To?—
Jesus Christ. I need to get a fucking grip.
Frankie clears her throat, her cheeks crimson under my stare. “I, uh, don’t have anything to put on.”
I just nod, my brain apparently forgetting how to form words now that I’m seeing her without the baggy clothes concealing her perfect body.
Smooth, dickhead. Real fucking smooth.
Her lips turn up in a hesitant smile. “Could I maybe borrow a t-shirt and some shorts or something?”
Or…
“This arrangement doesn’t have to be completely miserable, ya know,” I smirk, my eyes traveling down her body, eating up the sight of her again. My dick perks up, liking that suggestion very much.
She tightens the towel around her chest, clutching it like a shield. “You’re such a pig.”
My eyes jump to hers. “Just saying, baby. We could make this a helluva lot more enjoyable.”
Eyes narrowed, she opens her mouth but is cut short when a hard knock sounds at the door.
Shaking my head at her not seeing the genius in my suggestion, I move to the door and swing it open wide.
Noble holds up a brown paper bag from Burger Barn. “Got your food.”
Thank the gods. I’m fucking starving.
“Calista put it on your tab, VP.” The prospect starts to hand me the bag, then his eyes flick past me.
What the fuck?
I glance over my shoulder to see Frankie standing there in her towel, cheeks bright red. Noble’s eyes heat, and something hot and possessive slams into my chest.
An overwhelming feeling of jealousy washes over me, and I growl low in my throat. “Thanks,” I snap, snatching the bag from his hands.
“We didn’t—” Frankie rushes to explain, but I cut her off by slamming the door in Noble’s face.
Frankie’s mouth drops open. “He’s going to think that we?—”
“So what?” I shrug, moving past her to put the food on the dresser. I don’t give a shit what a fucking prospect thinks. He’s a bootlicker. They do what they’re told and don’t ask questions.
“So what?” she sputters. “I’ve never even had sex!” She waves her hand spastically at the closed door. “And he’s gonna think I’m a...” Flustered, she covers her face with her hands and groans.
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “What the fuck?”
She uncovers her face, and her brows pull together when she looks at me. “What?”
“You—you’ve never had sex?”
I watch as she plays back what she just said in her mind, and her cheeks go red. “Well... not exactly,” she waves me off. “But that’s not the point.”
Not the point? Not exactly? What the fuck does that mean? “How does one ‘not exactly’ have sex?” Pretty sure you’re either fuckin’ or you’re not.
She ducks her head, avoiding my eyes. “B.O.B.,” she mumbles.
Bob? “Who the fuck is Bob?” I growl. Why do I suddenly want to track this douchebag down and kick his ass for ‘not exactly’ fucking her?
She slowly blinks like I’m the dumbest asshole this side of the Mason Dixon line. “Bob. B.O.B.” Her eyes are blazing with defiance despite the clear embarrassment her cheeks are relaying.
