She shakes her head.
She’s still wearing her day clothes from work, her sweater falling off her shoulder.
“Do you want to borrow one of my shirts to sleep in?”
Her hand moves to her lips as she bites her lower one.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
I move swiftly, opening the drawer and pulling out a shirt for her. I’ve been waiting to see her in nothing but this again since the last time.
“The bathroom is just through there.” I nod to the corner of my room.
She takes the shirt, her eyes lingering on mine for a small moment as she passes me to go change.
The door clicks closed, and I let out a breath.
Fuck.
This day has been … memorable. And not in the way one would want a day to make a memory.
I run a hand over my face and reach behind me to pull my shirt over my head. I toss it to the floor, and I’ve just undone the belt on my pants and flicked the top button open when the bathroom door opens and Brooke appears, leaning on the doorframe.
She rubs one leg against the other, crossing her arms at her waist.
“It’s a little big,” she says, and her cheeks turn a dusty rose.
It’s perfect.
Words become lodged in my throat. I drink her in slowly: long, lean legs crossed at the ankle, bare feet. Her thighs are peeking out from the hem of my shirt. She’s not wrong—it’s big on her, but the way it hangs off one shoulder, exposing her skin, and her black underwear visible through the thin fabric makes me suck in a breath.
Fuck.
I like the look of her in my shirt.
No.
I love it.
“Say something,” she says and then moves toward me.
With my hands still on the button of my pants, I feel my cock grow harder with each step she takes toward me.
“You look …” I clear my throat. “Comfortable.”
Smooth, Dutton, real smooth.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her, been near her while she’s one piece of the clothing from being naked, but this time, we are both dead sober.
And this time, we know how it could be between us. How it could feel.
I want to tell her she looks fucking phenomenal in my clothes while I stalk toward her, pulling her into my arms to hold her close and breathe her in and press my lips to her neck, praying she lets me kiss every inch of her body, finally getting to know what her lips feel like pressed to my own.
But some jackass just showed up in our town, thinking he had the right to violate her space, all because they shared a few chats online.
I’m not about to be guy number two who makes that decision based on the fact that she’s wearing nothing but my T-shirt and about to crawl into a bed with me.
