“No. I don’t. Tell me.”
Fucking tease. “Almost naked!” I wave my hand up and down her body.
“Normal people knock before barging into a bathroom.” She shifts her weight, and the towel slips a dangerous half inchbefore she catches it. My eyes betray me, following the movement before I can force them back to her face.
“I thought Zoey was in here,” I explain through gritted teeth. “I didn’t exactly expect to find you half-naked.”
“You’re very interested in my current state of dress. Or undress. I’m not half-naked,” she corrects, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I’m fully naked under this towel. There’s a difference.”
Heat crawls up my neck, and my stupid, pussy-deprived cock nods toward her in agreement.Traitor. “That’s—that’s not the point.”
“What’s the point, Dr. Hughes? That you can’t handle seeing a woman in a towel? Are you twelve?” She arches an eyebrow, and I hate how composed she is now despite standing here dripping wet with only a thin piece of fabric between her and my hands. Shit, no, I mean total exposure. Not my hands. I won’t be touching her. Not ever.
“The point is you should lock the door,” I insist, refusing to be baited. “And while we’re at it, if we’re going to attempt coexisting in this house, maybe work on wearing more clothes. When we got here you were in nothing but a shirt.”
“A long, oversized shirt. Don’t exaggerate.”
“A very short shirt,” I correct.
“Fine. How about you work on knocking before entering and looking a little less?”
“Maybe. Or you could lock the door and wear clothes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted me to look.”
She belts out a caustic laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d rather bathe in acid than have you look at me.”
I smirk at the exaggerated denial. “Somehow I doubt that, Little Swan.”
She squints at me. “You’re the one who walked in uninvited. Twice now.”
“Except I was invited. I live here now. And hopefully you won’t for much longer.”
“You’re being such an asshole!” She flips me off, and I probably deserve that.
With a gruff breath, I calm myself down because she’s right. I am being an asshole. “Sorry. That just came out. I don’t want to fight. It’s too early for that.”
I realize I’m still standing in the doorway while water drips steadily from her hair down her arms and onto the tile floor. I should leave. I should turn around and walk away and pretend this never happened. Instead, I find myself noticing the faint scent of her shampoo or bodywash. It’s that scent. The one I liked so much from two years ago that I thought was perfume.
Shit. That smell.
“I agree.” She puffs out a breath and sets the hairbrush down. “You’re a real charmer in the morning.”
No. Now I’m a horny, grumpy son of a bitch. “I haven’t had coffee yet. I’m much more charming post-caffeine.”
“I already know that’s not true.” She makes a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go. Make coffee. I’m starting to get cold.”
I close the door behind me and blow out a breath. Coffee. I need coffee, and then I need to get Zoey up and both of us out the door. And I need to bleach the image of water droplets on smooth skin from my mind.
This is exactly why living with Skylar Davenport is a bad idea. She takes up too much space in a room, in a conversation, in my head. I have enough complications already. She’s not another I can afford.
9
SKYLAR
“Vitals have been up and down all night, but his sats are stable enough with the nasal cannula. His hemoglobin and hematocrit have been holding, but output from his chest tube picked up a little in the last hour, so you might want to mention it to the trauma team this morning during rounds,” Alison tells me as I take report from her. “He’s been in a decent amount of pain with the rib, clavicle, and arm fractures.”
“Poor kiddo.”
“For real. This is why whenever I have children, I’ll never let them climb trees.”
