Double shit.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Angel?You okay?”
His deep voice slides under the door and into my bones.
I panic.
“What?Um, yeah!Just going to the bathroom.”
I wince.
God, why did I say it like that?
Then, the worst possible sentence leaves my mouth.
“I’m not pooping, I mean.I’m just—never mind!Oh God.Kill me now.”
His chuckle—deep and rich and completely amused—rolls through the door like he’s enjoying this.
“For the record, everyone poops, Sabrina,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.“But I just wanted to tell you there’s a clean toothbrush in the top drawer.I usually shop in bulk.”
I blink at the closed door.
Bulk.
He shops in bulk.For toothbrushes.
For who?
Overnight guests?A harem?Random hook-ups with tragic self-esteem and a tendency to fall for men who save them?
Oh God.
Is that what I am?
Nerves punch me in the stomach.The good mood evaporates in a snap.I press my hand against the edge of the sink and try to breathe.
Don’t spiral, Sabrina.
Too late.
But really.
You knew what this was.
Didn’t you?
I open the drawer slowly.
There they are—a half dozen fresh, still-in-the-wrapper toothbrushes.
I take the lavender and white one.Soft bristles.
Like something you’d give to someone you want to keep comfortable.
Or someone you don’t expect to stay.
