“I know.” The woman laughed. “Please, go clean up. I can’t look at you without feeling shame.”
“Come on, Fletcher.” I held out my hand, and she stared at it a beat before she took it. “Let the handsome guy help you out.”
CHAPTER TEN
Naomi
Michael led us up the stairs toward the main area. He held my hand tight as we navigated through the crowd. I wasn’t a damsel in distress or anything, but the gross smell of beer made me feel a little woozy, and I was grateful to not have to worry about where I was walking.
He made a beeline for a family sized restroom and pushed the door open. “Are you alright? You didn’t seem too upset, but damn, I can’t believe that woman did that!”
I chewed my beer-stained lip and walked toward the sink as he locked the door...with him on the inside. He got paper towels and wetted them before handing them to me with a dark look on his face.
“Um, thanks?”
“Here, you have it all over your face.” He frowned as he took one of the towels and brushed it over my forehead. This wasn’t sensual by any means, but I closed my eyes and took in the moment: his body heat so close to mine, the concern on his face, and his clean scent overpowering the beer smell. I felt taken care of, even for a moment. Like I meant something to him. It was… wonderful.
“You’re going to be sticky,” he said, pulling me back to reality.
“Yeah, well, shocking no one, I once tripped at a frat party and wore beer for like six hours.” I scrunched my nose. “Mona won a beer pong tournament, and I couldn’t leave her there.”
One side of his mouth curved up as he tossed the napkins into the trash and got more. “Let’s see the damage on the jersey.”
I winced. I forgot I wore the jersey my dad got both Cam and I ten years ago. They were nice. “I think I have to get this dry-cleaned.”
“All the more reason to be mad.”
“It was an accident. Better her than an opposing fan who wants to fist fight, right?” I joked, trying to decipher why Michael wasn’t in his usual teasing mood. Could he be worried about what happened in the locker room? Or maybe…
“I hate that this happened to you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper as he took a step closer. My breath caught in my throat when he lifted the hem of the jersey. “Arms up, Fletch. Let’s see the damage.”
Out of all the ways I pictured Michael taking my clothes off, it wasn’t in a family-sized bathroom at an away college hockey game. Most of those thoughts involved my bedroom. Either way, my face burned red as he helped remove the jersey.
“I’m going to run some cold water on it to see if we can get the smell out.” His nostrils flared a few times as he glanced at my chest for point two seconds. Nothing more than a look. His jaw muscles tightened, and he turned the water on too hard.
My breathing was a little too fast for the situation, and he would be able to tell if I didn’t settle down, but why did he give me that look? Why did he seem pissed?
I wore a dark navy Under Armour shirt under the jersey because a) it was warm, and b) the jersey was itchy on its own so I liked to cover all my skin before wearing it. I moved to the right to see myself in the mirror when I saw it. Or rather, them. My nipples.
The skin-tight fabric didn’t leave a thing to the imagination at my perky small boobs. I mean, I was freezing cold and wet, so it made sense they were at a level ten, but was that why Michael seemed mad? He had a thing against nipples?
“I think I got the worst of it.” His voice was off. Strained. “We should buy you a sweatshirt for the rest of the night and put this in a bag.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He turned around from the sink, and his gaze dropped again to my chest for a little longer. His breathing got louder, and he ran a hand over his jaw, his sharp blue eyes warming. God, did the bathroom get smaller? Were the walls shrinking in as we stood there eyeing each other?
“Did you get all the beer off?” he asked in the same deep voice that I really, really liked.
“Most of it. It’s in my hair which is gross.” I picked up one end of my braid and shrugged. “Thanks for the help.”
“Sure.”
I shivered. Not just from the chill in the air but also from the intense way he stared at me like he thought I mattered. In the least sexy setting ever, my body hummed with how much I wanted to touch him.
“Damn, you’re cold. Here.” He started taking off his sweatshirt and exposing his stomach, and ugh, it wasperfect.
Toned and hard. The two lines on either side made my intelligent brain gooh me likey.I admired the way he had a little trail of hair that went from his belly button to the waistline of his jeans, andoof.Warm, Michael-scented cloth landed on my face.
