He grabs the bag he’s packed while I’ve been off daydreaming and slings it over his shoulder. We head back, and I let him in the RV first. He gives a low whistle. “Damn, Brady, this is nice.”
“Even better that it’s dry.” I instruct him to just place his bag wherever and to sit on the couch. “Beer?” I ask, reaching the fridge. I hand him one before he even answers. He takes itfrom me and pops the tab. “It’s no craft beer, but I hope it’ll do.”
“After the day I’ve had, I really don’t care what it is.” He takes a long pull from the can. I watch his throat work the cold liquid down, making me bite my bottom lip.
“That’s fair.” I open my own can and sit on the couch next to him. “Why do you mainly drink local beer?” I find myself asking.
“I like to try something new in each city or place I visit. Daniel and I used to do it, and I like to keep up the tradition.”
“That’s—sweet, actually,” I coo at him. We finish our beers in silence, and a shiver rolls through me. I forgot I’m still in wet clothes. “I’m going to change into something dry.” He looks down at his own clothes, as if he also forgot about his wet clothes.
“Sure. I should do the same.”
I head into my bedroom and close the door, taking a breath as I lean against it.
This is such a bad idea.
TWENTY-FIVE
DEAN
After Regan closesthe door to her bedroom with a light click, I start rummaging through my bag for dry clothes. Pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a plain black shirt. I quickly change into my shorts, looking behind me to be sure that she hasn’t come out yet.
I remove my wet shirt, and I’m about to put the new one on when the door to the back bedroom clicks open. I can feel Regan’s eyes on me, raking over my muscular form. I take my time, keeping my back turned as I drop the shirt over my head and begin to pull it down. I turn to her, still pulling the shirt down so she can get a glimpse of my abs.
I smirk as I see her mouth is slightly agape. This little setup is going to be intriguing, especially if she keeps looking at me like she wants to eat me whole. As she is still scanning over me, it’s my turn to stare. She decided to waltz out here in an oversized shirt and cotton shorts so short I almost missed them. Her toned thighs are on full display, and it’s making my mouth water. I lick my lips, and she clears her throat at me, bringing me out of my trance.
She walks by, swishing her hips. Has she always walked like that? Or is she just trying to drive me wild? She claims aspot on the couch and turns on the TV, switching over to Netflix.
“You want to watch Netflix or something?” she asks, flipping through the titles, trying to find something to watch.
Is she asking to ‘Netflix and chill’? Do people still do that? I sit on the opposite end of the couch, keeping my distance from her. Her thighs are too tempting, wanting to grab onto them.
And wrap around my face.
No, no, no. I can’t have thoughts like this. Since that kiss in my apartment and in my truck, she has invaded my fantasies in a way no one has ever done before. I never thought Regan Brady, my rival, my fucking rival, would be the one to occupy these fantasies. She’s everything that I despise. Or thought I did. As I’ve gotten to know her, there is more to her than I thought. More than the spoiled rich girl, more than just tagging onto her dad’s last name, and more than just a competitor standing in my way for the Cup seat I so desperately want.
“Sure. Pick whatever.” I pull out my phone as she continues to scroll through the titles, hoping it’ll distract me from her thighs.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
“You sure? Whatever I pick, you probably won’t like.”
“I’m sure whatever you pick, I’ll like just fine," I say, still scrolling.
“Challenge accepted, Dixon.” It’s silent as she continues. I don’t lift my head until I hear something playing.
“Bridgerton?Really?” I scrunch my nose at her. “I didn’t take you for a chick flick girl, Brady,” I quip.
“I’m still full of surprises, Dixon. This is what happens when you give me full rein.” The show begins, and I’m still scrolling until I realize I’m not, and I’m fully watchingBridgerton. Fully engrossed in what’s happening. A fewepisodes go by with us silently watching. I notice her glancing at me to see if I’m watching or still scrolling.
“So, you’re telling me, she’s married and doesn’t know where babies come from?” I shout at the TV.
“Chick flick, huh?” she teases.
“The plot is good.”
“The plot that includes a love story,” she muses, drawing out the word ‘love’ as she says it.
