She glanced down, and yep, she was still wearing the T-shirt and panties she’d thrown on after her shower. And since the world liked to laugh at her, the shirt was white, and she could clearly see her nipples poking through the material. Which meanthecould clearly see her nipples poking through.
“Crap.” She slammed the door before racing around her apartment, looking for clean clothes. How was it possible that in a place the size of a thumb, she could still lose things?
She found her old baggy sweatshirt with the Nirvana logo on the front, then pulled on some leggings before opening the door again. He was still there, beautiful green eyes and all.
His hands were shoved into his pockets, his muscles looking big and defined as they stretched the material of his white shirt.
“Sorry, I thought you were Polly.” Her cheeks heated.
“You don’t need to apologize, Mags. You look good in anything.”
She swallowed. His words were in contrast to everything she’d heard from her aunt in her dream.
Her fingers tightened on the door. “What are you doing here?”
“The guys told me what happened with Gerome.” He inched closer, his woodsy scent teasing her nose. “I came to check on you. Can I come in?”
In? He wanted to come into her thumb-size apartment?
She turned her head, scanning the crumpled bedsheets, laptop, and dirty mug on the table. “Um…sure.”
She stepped back, and the second Ethan was in the apartment, it suddenly felt ten times smaller. He took up all the space. It wasn’t thumb-size with him inside—it was a fingertip. Could she even move around the guy? Not without touching him.
“I didn’t know Polly had an apartment over her garage,” Ethan said.
Maggie closed the door. “It came with her house. Her mom stays here sometimes. When they stay in the same house, they clash.”
Ethan’s lips twitched. “So nothing’s changed since high school.”
“Nope. It probably never will. They’re too different.”
He scanned the bed and the ruffled sheets. “Were you asleep?”
“Of course not, it’s not even six. That would be ridiculous.”
Now his lips stretched into a full smile. “Liar.”
“I am not.”
“You have a pillow crease on your cheek.”
Oh man. She rubbed her face. “What are you, a detective?” But her own lips twitched. It took her one step to get from the door to the fridge. “Do you want a drink? I have root beer.”
“You remembered.”
She rolled her eyes. “You drank the stuff by the gallon. I tasted it on your tongue so often thatIstarted to like it.”
She froze, fridge door open.She’d tasted it on his tongue?Why the heck had she gone and said that?
She cleared her throat and pulled out two bottles before handing one to him.
He took it, their fingers grazing. The humor was gone from his eyes, something dark and intense taking its place. “Are you okay?”
No. She was hot and bothered and her tummy kept doing this skittering thing.
Condoms. She had to remember Nel’s condoms. Well, no, actually, that was too vivid for her fragile brain. She only needed to remember that they were dating.
She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. We dated a long time ago.”
