The studio door crashes open so hard it bounces against the wall. Ramsey stands in the doorway, his chest heaving, hair dripping wet like he just got out of the shower. His eyes are wild, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he growls, crossing the room in three long strides.
Before I can answer, he's on me, his arms boxing me in as he tugs my shirt back down while pushing me backwards. His body cages mine, radiating heat and anger and something else that makes my pulse skyrocket.
"There's still a fucking window, star. You aren't about to show anyone fucking anything. Ever." His voice is low, dangerous, but his hands on my skin are gentle, thumbs brushing against my ribs through the fabric he just pulled down.
"I knew you were watching," I breathe, staring up at his face. Water drips from his hair onto my cheek. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"Of course I was fucking watching. I'm always watching." He bites his lip, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his eyes rake over me. "You think I'd let you come here alone? Think I wouldn't know exactly what you were doing? I was already on my way when you started your little show."
He's still got me backed against the wall, one hand at my waist, the other braced beside my head. I reach up, touching his wet hair, twisting a strand around my finger.
"Your hair's soaked," I murmur, playing with it. "Did you even dry off after your shower?"
"Didn't have time," he grunts, leaning into my touch despite himself.
He backs up and goes to my phone, turning off the music and then grabbing my bag before tossing his hoodie at me.
"Put it on and lets go. I’m following your ass all the way back to the house, and then you can do that little fucking dance you were so intent on doing on my fucking face."
Oh.
Shit.
Chapter 23
Reese
I'm still dripping wet when I hit the bottom of the stairs, towel wrapped around my hair like a turban, oversized t-shirt clinging to damp patches of my skin. The hot shower washed away the sweat and soreness from dancing, but not the hunger that's gnawing at my insides like a rabid animal.
"Jesus, I'm fucking starving," I announce to no one in particular, but the smell of food hits me before my feet touch the last step.
Ramsey's in the kitchen, his back to me as he methodically unpacks takeout containers across the island counter. The muscles in his shoulders flex under his thin t-shirt with each movement, and I find myself staring at the way his dark gray sweatpants hang low on his hips.
"Sit," he commands without turning around. "Eat."
"Bossy much?" I mutter, but my stomach growls so loudly it practically drowns out my own voice. I slideonto one of the barstools, leaning forward to peek inside the containers he's arranging.
My mouth waters instantly. Grilled salmon, still steaming. Brown rice with veggies. Some kind of leafy green salad that actually looks fucking delicious instead of sad. And—holy shit—sweet potato fries dusted with something that smells like cinnamon and cayenne.
"Balanced macros," Ramsey says, sliding a plate toward me. "Protein, complex carbs, healthy fats."
"Where'd you get all this?" I ask, already stabbing a piece of salmon with my fork.
"New place opened up like five blocks from campus, so some of the guys have been going there. Protein Palace, and honestly smart ass marketing decision."
The salmon is fucking incredible—flaky and tender with some kind of herb crust that's making my taste buds have an orgasm.
"Holy shit," I groan around a mouthful. "This is amazing."
I devour half my plate before I realize Ramsey hasn't touched his food. He's just standing there, watching me eat with this intense look on his face, like he's cataloging every bite I take.
"Aren't you going to eat?" I ask, gesturing to his untouched plate with my fork.
That's when his expression shifts. His lips curl into that cocky smirk I know so well, the one that makes heat pool between my legs instantly. His blue eyes darken as they track over my face, lingering on my mouth.
"God, I fucking hope so."
