“Oh God,” I shout as I bend back down just as Halsey stands upright, like we’re on a damn invisible seesaw. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I flashed you.”
He spins around, turning away, his hand in his hair.
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t do that on purpose,” I say as I tug on my skirt, but since it’s stuck under my foot, it only throws off my balance, causing me to topple backward on the floor and right out of my platform sandals that clunk to the floor.
Halsey turns around from the ruckus and finds me lying back on the floor, hands propping me up, my now loincloth barely covering my thong-covered crotch. Thank God for laser hair removal or else Halsey would be enjoying quite the scene.
His eyes fall to me, and when his head processes the hot mess in front of him—me completely out of my skirt, sandals splayed across the floor, and major crotch exposure on full display—he closes his eyes.
Mother of God, this is not what he signed up for.
“I . . . I didn’t see anything,” he says quickly, which of course sends me into a tailspin of embarrassment because whenever someone says they didn’t see anything . . . we all know . . . they saw something.
No . . . they saw everything!
And I’m not one to get embarrassed, but this is a moment in my life that I know will sit heavily as my top core memory, never to be replaced until my very last breath.
Yup, branded in my brain forever.
“I want to, uh, help you, but I want to give you privacy.”
How about one of thoseMen in Blackmemory erasers? Does he have any of those? That would be better than privacy right now.
I take a deep breath because it can’t get worse than this and say, “Pretty sure privacy is a moot point by now.” I struggle to stand as his eyes remain closed. I shake my skirt out and step into it, being very careful not to stand on it. Once it’s slipped on, I say, “Okay, I’m no longer flashing you.”
His eyes peer open as I catch a twinge of red staining the apples of his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?” I ask. “I should be the one apologizing.” I slip my shoes on. “Not every day the random person you have staying in your spare bedroom tries to flash you with their unsnapped bodysuit. I just want to state for the record, if I had it snapped, you would have been exposed to the inner depths of my nether regions. Think wedgie but in the front. No one wants to see that kind of crevice. And I know for damn sure you didn’t think to yourself, oh, let me invite this girl to live with me, only to be flashed an unwarranted camel toe. Trust me, the loincloth was way better, and I don’t know why I just said crevice because crevice is not a great choice of wording when talking about you know . . . the crotch area—ew, I hate the word crotch. I don’t know what’s worse, crotch or cervix. Both are just awful. But, God, I just flashed you, which probably woke you up faster than the caffeine in your coffee, and I swear I didn’t do that on purpose. I didn’t think this morning, you know what? Let’s see how we can make the hairs on the back of Halsey’s neck stand straight with horror—ah yes, step on yourskirt and flash him your loincloth. Not on the plan this morning. And I’m rambling, I understand that, but I’m slightly horrified that I nearly slapped you in the face with my crotch . . . Ugh, that word . . . so . . . yeah.”
If he wasn’t rethinking his decision of having me as a roommate when I whipped my loincloth at him, he’s definitely rethinking it now after that unnecessary speech that offered no value to the world in the slightest.
“It’s fine,” he says, looking so uncomfortable. I’m sure he wants to slink away and retreat into one of his books so he can forget this ever happened. “Are you okay?”
“Only mortified, but it’s nothing a heavily frosted donut and cup of coffee can’t fix,” I say as I take a deep breath. “Wow, okay, what a way to start the morning, huh?”
“Yeah.” He leaves it at that but keeps eye contact, a strong eye contact that makes my stomach jolt with nerves.
“Anyway.” I thumb toward the front door. “I should be going so I can call Penny and tell her my life is over now.”
He nods toward my phone. “It’s broken, remember?”
I glance down at it, then back at him. “Dammit. Well, I’ll call her from the office. I guess better to get my clumsiness out now rather than in my meeting. Anyway, enjoy your coffee, good luck tonight, and yeah . . . sorry.”
I head toward the front door as he says, “It’s fine.”
But I don’t stay to hear him say bye because I just flashed Halsey Holmes—and I’m sure his little, innocent heart has been traumatized forever.
“Thank you for meeting with me,”Huxley Cane says as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat across from me.
When I say this man is on another level, I’m dead serious.
There is an air about him. His commanding presence consumes your attention the minute he enters the room with his powerful stride, the deep, fixed expression in his eyes, and the way he subtly moves through the space with the knowledge that everything he glances at he owns.
Literally owns.
The walls.
The air.
