His eyes dip, and that’s when it dawns on me that myentire front is wet now.
Which means the T-shirt that should have had no problem hiding that I was going sans bra is now plastered to my front—my nipples jutting against the fabric and already pebbling as the cool air hits the wet cotton. I feel my face flame as Jack’s eyes catch there; I notice the way his throat bobs with a swallow before his gaze finally climbs back up to meet mine.
“I didn’t know you were home,” he says.
“You already said that.”
His jaw tics. “Did I?”
“You did.”
“I forgot my clothes,” he tells me. “It actually happens a lot.”
“I was just…going to the kitchen.”
I think we both realize at the same time that he’s still touching me, his grip on my shoulders a now-solid weight that I can’t ignore. He releases me in an instant, clearing his throat as one of his hands shoots down to his towel, which is hanging on for dear life, gripping it tight to ensure that it doesn’t fall.
And I’m doing my best not to stare at his nipples the entire time.
I’ve never really given much thought about a man’s nipples, but Jack’s are small and tight with little droplets of water stillclinging to them, and I have the strangest urge to press my tongue there and catch one.
What the actual fuck? This is Jack Baker. We don’t lust after Jack Baker.
Do we?
“Well, I’d…” He rubs at his wet hair with his free hand. “I’d better go and get dressed.”
I glance down at my wet T-shirt—a mistake, I realize, because it makes Jack do the same thing. “I’d better go change.”
“Yeah…Sorry about that?”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you really though?”
“Well…” He flashes me a grin that is more like the Jack I know. “At least a little.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t feel the same level of irritation I usually do, more like subtle amusement. “Pig.”
“If the wet T-shirt fits,” he says seriously.
I make a disgruntled sound as I turn away from him, heading back to my room and shutting the door firmly behind me. I’m doing my best not to think about sculpted abs and tight nipples and cum gutters that are absolutely lickable—deciding then and there that it has been entirely too long since I got laid, and that’s the reason for all this weird and sudden thirsting.
I haven’t had sex for the better part of a year. It’s kind of hard to hook up with a course load like mine, not to mention that before this year, I was afraid every person I met would somehow find out who I was and leak it to the press. But there’s nothing stopping me now, I suppose. And if I’m looking at Jack Baker the way that I just was…Obviously it might be time.
Because I can’t be attracted to Jack.
That would be the stupidest thing I could ever do.
When I’m changed and decent—I put a bra back on just in case—I make my way back out into the kitchen, still hankering for some food before I pour myself into bed. I was sort of hoping that I would be able to get through it unscathed, that Jack would be fucking off in his room somewhere, but of course, the universe isn’t that kind.
He’s standing over the sink with one of those individual pints of ice cream, taking slow bites. I actually have the misfortune of seeing himlickthe spoon as I walk up, and that’s an image that is going to take a long time to get out of my head.
“Hey,” he says.
I upnod him, moving to the fridge. “Hey.”
“I have ice cream,” he tells me.
I eye him from the open fridge door. “I can see that.”
