Page 135 of Risking the Pucking Defense

I shake my head in disbelief.

“What? You can’t go to bed with it wet,” he says so seriously, and I’m not sure how I don’t laugh.

He turns it on and sets about blow-drying my hair.

“I’m not sure what you’re meant to do with curls. Rylee’s hair was straight,” he confesses as he works behind me, carefully smoothing out my usually curly locks.

“It’s perfect,” I say, watching as my dark hair fans my shoulders.

“Now, we can leave,” he says once he’s happy it’s dry.

He puts everything away, then takes my hand and leads me back to his bedroom.

The second we stand at the end of his bed, a little tension appears, and when I glance over, he’s looking between me, the towel, and the bed.

“The only person who’s slept in here with me is Rylee,” he confesses quietly. “I’m…uh…I’m not…did you…did you want something to sleep in?”

“A T-shirt would be great.”

He stills a beat before a smile appears.

“A T-shirt with my name on it?” he asks, looking a little too excited.

“And maybe your number too, if you’ve got one.”

“Yeah,” he says, abandoning my side in favor of his dresser. “I do. I’ve got a few, in fact. Here.”

He thrusts the fabric at me and I take it, holding it up to see it. “Monroe” is written across the shoulders with a big ninety-six beneath it.

“Something tells me you’re going to look so much better in that than I do.”

He watches me for a moment before he spins back around and pulls open another drawer.

My heart pounds at his thoughtfulness to give me some privacy to change, despite what we’ve just experienced together.

I’m about to pull my towel free when he beats me to it, dropping his to the floor at his feet and exposing his incredible ass to me.

I don’t realize I make a sound until he looks over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place.

“What was that, Hails?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you whimpered. Did you see something you like?”

“Maybe,” I confess, letting my eyes trail down his sculpted back all the way to his ass and then down to his thick thighs.

“Maybe?”

“Yep, maybe,” I confirm before letting my towel drop as well.

“Interesting, because I more than like what I see.”

Fire shoots through my veins as he watches me tug his T-shirt on.

“Turn around,” he demands once the fabric falls around my thighs.

Slowly, I do as I’m told, my heart like a runaway train in my chest.