Page 45
I wave a hand. “You’re fine. It’s not even that messy. You should see my room.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
Our gazes snap to each other, and my mind drifts to that moment before I can stop the thought. He rips his eyes away first, scraping a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Let me get you a change of clothes. I’ll be right back.”
He saunters down the hallway before I have a chance to thank him, so I meander to a wall of pictures. I’m curious to see what Rhode looked like in his twenties, but it’s actually a collection of the most horrendous cross-stitches I’ve seen. I smile at all the terrible designs.
“Don’t be a…” I squint at the cross-stitch, reading the words out loud stitched above what looks like a skyscraper or a log. “Is that a… Oh, I get it. Don’t be a dick. That’s funny.”
“What’s funny?” Rhode snaps from behind me, warm breath coasting over my neck.
I jolt, and my back hits his broad chest. “Sorry, I was just looking at these cross-stitches. Did you buy them?”
He reaches over and points to a cross-stitch. Rhode’s bicep brushes my ear, and I shiver, but all he does is keep his unaffected gaze on the wall.
“No, I made these, except for the only good one of the ballsack that says I’m Nuts About You. My mom did that. She’s got the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy.”
“I think your mom might be my favorite person.”
“Mine too.” His lips turn up in the same way mine always do when I think of my mom. “It’s something she used to do, and I picked it up from her. It takes my mind off all the retirement bullshit, but since you’re an artist, you probably think I’m terrible.”
“Yeah, these really are horrific, but that’s my favorite kind of art because it’s unique,” I agree, examining the tragic cross-stitch collection. “Can you make me one?”
His laugh rumbles against my back.
“I’m serious, Rhode. I want one.”
There’s a pause. “You really want one of my shitty cross-stitches to hang up at your place?”
“Absolutely. I’d ask for two, but I’m sure you don’t have a lot of extra time to cross-stitch during the season.” Glancing over my shoulder, I find a deep divot between his brows. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just that you’re the first person besides my mom and sister to ask me to make a cross-stitch for them.” He drops his eyes to the dry clothes folded in his hands. His Adam's apple bobs.
With a sigh, he shakes off whatever was on his mind and thrusts the clothes out to me, still avoiding my gaze. “Here. Bathroom’s down the hall on the right, so you can change there. Sorry if that sweatshirt smells, by the way, it’s the only one I have.”
“Thanks.”
I hold the clothing at arm’s length. The Guardians logo is peeling off the front. Nice to know he’s giving me one of his dirty old sweatshirts, but at least it’s dry.
I head into the marble bathroom, but before I close the door, I shout down the hall. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you avoided the cross-stitch topic. I’m serious. Your good luck charm wants one!”
I can’t be sure, but I think his low chuckle echoes through the closed door. The bathroom is massive, of course, with a black marble countertop and golden sconces on the walls.
A brown and white furry tail dangles off one of the top cabinets, and I grin. “You don’t look so mean.”
He hisses.
“Okay, then.” I jerk back. “It’s fine. We’ve all got our sassy sides.”
I peel off my crewneck until I’m topless in the bathroom. Bras are mini-torture chambers for my small boobs, so I never wear them. I lift the Guardians sweatshirt to my nose, carefully sniffing to see how bad it smells.
It’s a little musty due to that masculine smell of sweat, but there’s also the woodsy scent of his cologne. I sniff again, deeper this time.
It smells warm, if smells can be warm, or maybe it’s that the soft material feels like it’s been worn for ages. I start tugging it over my head right as an earsplitting crack of thunder shatters the silence.
With a jump, I clutch the sweatshirt to my chest.
Lights flicker.
