“NOAH!”
“Remember,” I say, trying and failing to sound stern, “I’m in charge here.”
She snorts from where she’s draped over my shoulder.
“You wish.”
I grin.
Because the truth is I do enjoy pretending to be in charge.
But the other truth?
I love it even more when she pushes back.
When she rolls those brown eyes and takes control of the moment like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Confidence looks ridiculously good on her.
I set her down once we reach the bathroom, but I don’t step away.
The room fills with steam as I turn on the shower, hot water pounding against the tile.
Chiara leans back against the counter, watching me with that curious little smile that always makes my chest tighten.
“What exactly is your plan here, Walker?”she asks.
“Simple.”
I reach forward, hooking my fingers lightly through the waistband of her shorts and tugging her a step closer.
“I just played eighty minutes of brutal rugby.”
“Mm.”
“And you’re a physio.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Yes?”
“So I’m thinking,” I murmur, lowering my voice as I brush a curl away from her cheek, “there’s a very good chance I need somehands onrecovery.”
She laughs softly.
“Oh, really?”
“Absolutely.”
Her eyes drift toward the shower.
Then back to me.
“And you think that involves dragging me in there with you?”
“Pretty sure that’s the medically recommended treatment.”
She tilts her head, considering me.
