Involuntary.
I’m a medical student.
I know exactly how easily heightened stress can trigger a biological response, and an erection is simply a spinal reflex, caused by stimulation, that can occur automatically without conscious input from the brain.
It happens all the time, I tell myself as I shut off the water and grab a towel.
Axle isn’t attracted to me. It’s just science.
I point a finger at my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. “Science.”
My reflection looks unconvinced.
I quickly dry off.
Then I pull on my favorite sleep shirt.
The faded black Bryce Raintree world champion tee hangs almost to mid-thigh.
I pair it with black biker shorts and run my fingers through my damp hair.
Then I stare at myself again.
My cheeks are pink.
“Oh, get a grip, Jovie.”
I turn off the bathroom light and slip out my back door.
I cross onto Axle’s deck and knock.
The door swings open.
Sweet Lord.
He’s standing there in those damn gray sweatpants. His hair is still damp, and a charcoal T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders.
Not fair.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” His gaze slides down to my legs and lingers for a second before he clears his throat.
Instead of inviting me inside, he steps out, carrying two steaming mugs. “Figured the view was better out here.”
That’s probably a good call.
He hands me one of the mugs, and our fingers brush.
Neither of us reacts to the sensation, but we both feel it. I’m sure of it.
Ugh, why is this weird? I’m making it weird.
“This should help you sleep better than soda,” he says.
I smile. “Thank you.”
The mug is warm against my palms.
