“Okay,” he replied, drawing out the word. “Clean coping chamber.”
I glowered at him until he got the hint.
He lifted the beer in a little salute. “Goodnight, Fly Boy.”
After finishing the slice, I discarded my T-shirt, and grabbed my shave kit out of the closet because I needed a shower. And just my luck, the bathroom was a Jack-and-Jill, wedged between my room and Keaton’s. Devon had mentioned it when he first offered me the room, but at the time, it hadn’t meant much. Now it felt like the worst possible setup.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bathroom was narrow, with two sinks, a mirror that took up the entire wall, and a counter split by nothing but an invisible line I could feel the second I looked down.
I set my bag on my side, making sure I didn’t bump anything that wasn’t mine. I wasn’t trying to start another war.
As soon as I turned on the faucet, the other door opened.
My shoulders tensed as I peered at him.
Keaton stepped in barefoot, his sweatpants low on his hips, his hair tied back. When he stopped, his attention flicked from my hands to my face, then down to my chest, to the inkwork spread across it, where there was a large anatomical heart pierced with crossed swords he’d never seen before. His staredropped, not to my hands or the sink, but lower. For a beat, his focus held there before he dragged it back up and pretended he hadn’t been checking me out.
I grabbed the toothpaste from my bag. “Can I help you?”
“I need something.”
“All right,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
His attention shifted to the door behind him, then back to me. “You should lock this door when you’re in here.”
“So you don’t accidentally walk in on me while I’m naked?” I asked.
His stare sharpened. “Exactly.”
“You could also knock.”
“Or you can just lock the fuckin’ door.”
“The lock goes both ways.” I’d assumed he had a lock on his side of the door so he could have privacy in his bedroom like I had on my side.
“I lock that shit every time.”
We held stares in the mirror too long for two guys who were supposed to hate each other. Then his heated gaze lowered to my mouth, before snapping back up.
I braced my hands against the counter. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me.”
“Tell me to look away then.”
I should’ve told him to, and I should’ve meant it, but what we once were hit me square in the chest. “No. If you’re going to look, own it.”
He watched me in the mirror, then glanced at my bare chest again. His gaze lingered a second too long before he forced his eyes back up. “Remember to lock the door next time.”
“Or what?”
His focus moved to my mouth like he remembered kissing me. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
“Or I’m worried you’ll say something stupid, and I’ll do something even worse,” he finally said.
My stomach dipped, but it wasn’t from fear. It was that other thing, the one I’d told myself I’d suppressed. I gave him a slow grin. “So it’s my fault you can’t control yourself?”
