I’m trying so damn hard not to look at his dick, and it’s like just staring at me through his boxer briefs. It’s right under the glow of the hanging light as if it’s on display like a piece of artwork. What the hell kind of material is his underwear made from? Because seriously, cotton doesn’t shinelikethat.
He clears his throat, directing my attention, once again, away from his dick.Away, look up, he has eyes and a mouth. I’m just noticing his lips are pale in comparison to his tan. The contrast is ... okay, I’ve already determined he’s hot. Maybe I could go ahead and move past this stupidthoughtnow.
“I warned you about Long Ho—Sterling. I was just trying to be helpful. Some might saythank you,but I can see that might be expecting a little muchfromyou.”
“You want me to thank you for going through my underwear drawer and leaving me a note earlier, then decorating my bathroom as if I were some kind ofprostitute?”
My voice is escalating, and I’m trying so, so hard to stay calm, especially with Dylan sleeping next door, and Samantha and Daniel across the hall. I can’t control myself. It’s like I’m turning into the Hulk. He’s doing this to me. He’s making me crazy. I breathe heavily out of my pursed lips, silencingmyrage.
“Well, yeah,” he says in response to my prostitutequestion.
“I get it,” I laugh sardonically. “The nannies don’t quit. You chase them away, right? Since you haven’t chased me away yet, I must, therefore, be a prostitute? What the hell kind of sense does that make? There is something wrong with your mind. Really wrong. You have an issue you should seriouslyaddress.Wow.”
Liam smiles in response. “If that’s what you want tothink.”
“I’m not sure what else I could think at this point. You have a huge dick—I mean, you’re a huge dic—asshole. Asshole. You’re an asshole, Liam.” That’s it. I need to leave this room, now. I just said everything he wants to hear. No. Whyyyy? Can I just cry and ask for a do-over? I don’t understand why this ishappening.
I turn to leave and grab the door knob again when I hear, “How about a truce?” A truce. Right. I’ve seen this in movies. It’s the exact point in time when the person calling a truce makes hisultimatemove.
“No truce,” I tell him, holding my focus on the back of his door, which of course, has an oversized mirror that shows the reflection of hiscockygrin.
He shrugs his shoulders and pushes away from the wall. “Fine, be that way.” He moves over to his bed then slips his thumbs inside the hem of his boxer briefs and pullsthemdown.
My mouth falls open, and Iquietlygasp.
Regardless of feeling this involuntary spasm on my face, I can see it in the mirror, along with his smooth, round, hairless ass that has muscles. Whose ass hasmuscles?
He drops down into his bed and rolls over, facing away from me. “Mind hitting thelights?”
I do. Because every time he tells me to do something, I fucking do it like he’s my goddamnmaster.
Now that the lights are out, it’s time to get the hell out of his room before I say or do something stupid. I race down the hall and close myself back into my room, hitting my own lights, and climb into bed to end this confusing-as-hellday.
It takes at least twelve long, deep breaths before I can steady my nerves. Although, I don’t think there is enough oxygen in this entire world to erase the image burnt into my head. I can’t even get mad at him for that. I was inhisroom. I entered without knocking orasking.
Forget about it. Forget about him. Forget about Sterling and whatever meaning is behind Long Horn. Forget about landing in the zone of becoming a born-again virgin due to lack of use. There’s no way to forget any of it. Who am Ikidding?
I reach down to the ground and pull my suitcase out from under the bed, reaching into the small compartment inside, ready for some relief fromthisday.
I feel around, but it’s empty. It’s empty because someone moved it. It was the very last thing I took from my bedroom at home, the item I made sure to conceal safely beneath all myclothes.
I want to say he’s gone too far, but he went too far when he touched my panties, never mindShermanator.
Back to the idea of crying, it sounds like my only option right now. Otherwise, I might explode. Considering whatever look he must have had on his face or the thoughts going through his head as he touched my precious Shermanator makes me want to go back into his room, and junk punch hisbig...junk.
Nervously, I whip open the nightstand drawer, assuming it would be in a normal place to keep my little personal device, but instead, I find a note. Another fucking note that says, “Dylan likes to go through drawers, so don’t keep anything too private or battery operated in here.” Yeah, that’s why my suitcase was a good place for it, don’t you think, you goddamnmanservant?
I get out of bed and rummage through the bathroom, feeling my need for Shermanator grow, partly because I don’t know whereheis.
It’s nowhere in the bathroom, not in the drawers, or under the bed. Shermanator isgone.GONE.
I turn out all the lights again and get back into the bed, seething with rage. I shove my hands under my pillow, feeling something odd touch my fingertips. What the hell? I turn the bedside lamp on and pull out whatever I was just touching, finding my lacy black thong with another note on it saying, “You left this on the bathroomfloor.”
He’s playing war with me. That’s what this is, but he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I know I come off as sweet, but if you mess with me, it’sallover.
Sleep is completely overrated,right? I’m certain I got a solid three hours at some point between midnight and ... how is it sixalready?Geez.
I couldn’t help noticing how unreasonably cold the water was yesterday morning when I had to wade over to Dylan in slow motion, even though the sun had been up for a few hours already. I have a bad feeling the water will be even colder this morning, being only an hour after the sun rises. Of course, there’s also the whole spending time with Liam thing ... the issue that’s going to make the experience worse. I had no idea I’d have to endure such torture for a summernannyingjob.
