It was lucky she’d never worn these dresses on training camp when she was on the team. Twenty-year-old me would not have coped. I might have tried poetry or some shit and then I would have had to live with that embarrassment too.
‘I don’t know why guys do that, take their shirts off from the neck.’ Her voice wavered, which gave me more ideas I shouldn’t have had.
‘How do you take yours off, then?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ she answered drily.
‘I would, but I meant it as a genuine question,’ I replied with a laugh. ‘Don’t you do the same? I never thought about it before.’
She glanced down at herself, her hands raised as though she were about to tear off her clothes, and I had to turn away, all my hair standing on end. I knew exactly howIwould undress her. Today’s dress had an elasticated ruched bit around her torso that I would tug down until I could tease myself with a hint of her bra. With the other hand, I’d raise the hem and grip her thigh, around the back.
Christ, this was not helping. I rubbed the back of my head vigorously to clear it. She’d already rejected me once, which was fair enough, since she was a commitment gal and I’d never even tried to be in a relationship with someone. It was usually easier just to say goodbye when my life took me out of the country – whichever country I happened to be in that day.
But I’d struggled saying goodbye to her back in September…
‘Maybe I cross my arms?’
My gaze snapped back up to her face. Of course my body had raced ahead with this ‘taking off clothes’ scenario, while she was still working on the intellectual task, but she was pretty when she was thinking hard, her lips pressed together and a dimple between her brows to match the one in her chin.
‘I wonder if that’s a thing, that men rip their shirts off like you do and women cross their arms. It would make a good short video,’ she mused.
‘Men ripping their shirts off?’
She laughed, the sound shooting through my brain. ‘Exactly. Although it might not be as effective for marketing. No one would remember the sponsor.’
I tried not to take that as a compliment and turned for the bathroom to keep this thing moving. ‘At least the PowerFuel followers will have seen me half-naked so much, they’re desensitised to it,’ I said as I turned on the water until it ran hot.
It was true, she’d filmed me wearing less than the tracksuit bottoms I had on, but something in her body language was setting me off this time, my oversensitive Leesa radar bleeping continually. When I caught sight of her in the mirror, her gaze seemed to be stuck on the dragon tattoo on my back, her expression volatile.
She came closer with hesitant steps. ‘Do you need to tidy up the bathroom?’
‘I don’t leave condoms lying around, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ I said with a snort. ‘We’re at altitude in the middle of nowhere. Opportunity for that sort of thing is kind of lacking.’
There it was – her vivid eye roll. ‘Do you ever think about anything else?’
‘Not when you’re looking at me like your favourite ice-cream flavour.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I was not!’
I didn’t argue with her. ‘Should I put my shirt back on?’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, which wasn’t the most flattering adjective she could have chosen.
I reached for my razor, dipping it in the hot water in the basin. ‘You gonna film any of this or were you really hoping to take the moustache for a test drive before I get rid of it? Are you sure you aren’t curious about how it feels?’
‘How it feels where?’
I had to shoot out a hand for balance, my throat suddenly thick. My gaze swung to hers, only to find her cheeks pink and a flustered frown on her face.
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘—how it would feel on your thighs if I went down on you?’
She gulped, but I suspected I’d got myself more worked up than I’d got her.
‘You seem to think I won’t call your bluff,’ she said, her expression grave.
My mind went blank as she took a casual step closer. ‘What?’
