Chapter Fifteen #2
With a sigh, I gave up. I’d wash up in the bathroom, then beg Drew for a blanket or two. Maybe three, so I could fashion myself a cocoon and survive the night like a very frustrated butterfly.
But one thing was clear: Glamma and her squad had been here. And judging by the suspicious lack of mattress, they were absolutely, without a doubt, up to something.
With a sigh, I realized I needed to go talk to Drew.
I shuffled down the hall, and the closer I got to Drew’s bedroom door, the more my palms sweated. I wiped them on my pants, which only made them damp.
Fantastic.
This wasn’t a big deal. I just needed blankets. Say the words, get the blankets, go back to the guest room. Easy.
I knocked on his door before I lost my nerves.
A muffled reply came through the door. “Come in.”
Except apparently my brain didn’t translate correctly. Because the second I shoved the door open—too hard, naturally, so it banged against the wall—I discovered what he’d actually said was probably more like, “Don’t come in.”
Because Drew was in the middle of stripping.
My vision was suddenly filled with bare shoulders, a lean muscular torso, and—oh God—he was bent over, pants and boxers tangled around his ankles.
“Hey,” He jerked upright, which confirmed the obvious: Drew was gloriously, breathtakingly naked.
A good person—hell, a good fake girlfriend—would’ve spun around. Made a witty exit and pretended she saw nothing.
Me? I just … stared.
Drew’s eyes went wide, darted around the room, probably looking for his dignity.
I couldn’t be sure, because I was laser-focused on the obvious problem between us.
And by problem, I meant the massive, stunning, completely distracting erection currently starring in this very special live performance.
My brain short-circuited.
That’s not a dick, that’s a national monument, Bad Eleanor whispered.
He scrambled to yank his pants up, hopping on one foot, boxers still twisted like a boa constrictor.
One hop. Two.
I should’ve helped. Or turned away. Or left. Or done literally anything other than gawk.
Instead, Bad Eleanor continued to whisper in my head, breathless: Holy hell, that thing deserves its own zip code.
Heat flushed from my head to my toes as I thought about holding it or stroking it. Maybe even giving it a good lick.
On hop three, disaster struck. Drew toppled like a majestic oak tree in a hurricane, arms windmilling, pants still strangled at his ankles.
And then he went down. Hard. The thud shook the floor, Instinctively, he cupped himself mid-fall, like a man shielding the crown jewels.
I didn’t blame him. Something that beautiful deserved to be saved.
And next thing I knew, my brain snapped back into focus.
I was staring at a naked Drew.
Objectifying him in my head.
And I was only a tiny bit sorry about it.
“Shit!” I squeaked. My hands flapped uselessly at my sides. “Do you need—I don’t know—ice? A helmet?”
Flat on his back, Drew groaned. “No.”
And that’s when my panic grew worse. “Do you want me to get naked too? Like … so we’re even?”
His head snapped up. “No, no, everything’s fine!”
“Right, okay. That was weird. Forget I said anything.” I slapped my hands over my eyes and spun around, which was pointless, because the image was burned into my retinas forever. “I’ll just stand here with my eyelids closed like a decent human being.”
Behind me, frantic shuffling. A drawer opened and closed. Fabric rustled.
“You can turn around now,” he muttered.
I peeked one eye open. And instantly mourned the loss—athletic shorts, t-shirt—no more view of the newest national monument.
“Sorry,” I said, quickly. “About … all of it.”
You’re not sorry. Not even a little.
Shut up, Bad Eleanor!
His face was bright pink, matching the shade I usually wore when embarrassed. “Did you … need something?”
“Yes. Sort of.” I clasped my hands together like a Victorian orphan begging for scraps. “Soooo, funny story. The mattress you mentioned? Doesn’t exist.”
He frowned. “What? Of course it does. I put it in there myself.” He strode past me down the hall and into the guest room. Then his voice boomed, “Glamma!”
I cringed and perched on the edge of his California King size bed. Then immediately sprang back up. Sat down again. Up. Down. I looked like I was auditioning for a squat workout video.
When Drew reappeared, hair sticking out in every direction from running his hands through it, he looked one wrong word away from combusting. “There was one in there earlier today.”
“It’s totally fine. Really. Just give me a blanket and I’ll sleep in the tub. Or the floor. It’ll be like camping.” I forced a smile. “Minus the bugs.”
“You’re not sleeping in a bathtub.” He had that growly, mountain man vibe and voice going on again. And holy crap, my thighs clenched, which really didn’t help since I was suddenly all tingly and needy.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I shook my head. “No way. You’ve already done too much for me. I’m not stealing your bed, too. What’s next, your kidney?” Ugh, shut up, Ellie.
“Where’s your luggage?”
I gestured in the direction of the guest room. “It isn’t here. But I can sleep in my clothes tonight.”
He glared, stalked to his dresser, yanked out a t-shirt and shorts, and thrust them at me. “You’re wearing these. The bathroom’s through there. Toothbrush, toothpaste, top drawer.”
I huffed, stomping towards the bathroom. “We’re both adults. This is ridiculous. I can make my own choices.”
“Not when they’re not in your best interest,” he shot back.
I’d deal with the bed situation when I was done.
I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me, cheeks blazing, heart racing. And the only thought that cut through the chaos was this: I had absolutely, positively, seen everything.
While I tugged off my clothes, I gave myself a pep talk. Drew is not winning the bed battle. He’s not sleeping on the floor. I am a grown woman, and I will not cave. Even if he’s hot enough to melt steel beams.
I folded my clothes neatly on the edge of his sleek black countertop—reminding myself to behave like a polite houseguest instead of the horny gremlin my brain was becoming.
His bathroom was luxurious: gray walls, shiny high end fixtures, a massive soaker tub that whispered climb in and never leave.
I avoided its siren call and wriggled into the worn maroon t-shirt and shorts.
Miracle of miracles, they fit. For once, the universe was on my side. Well, until I made the questionable decision to lift the collar of his shirt to my face and inhaled.
Oh. My. God. Drew.
Masculine and clean so very him.
Stop sniffing, Ellie, I scolded myself. Normal people don’t get high off of borrowed laundry.
Bad Eleanor fanned herself.
One more sniff. For science.
I was mid-inhale when a knock rattled the door.
I shrieked, and clutched the shirt to my chest like I’d been sniffing contraband.
“Everything okay in there?” Drew’s teasing voice floated through the door. “Or did I interrupt you going through my medicine cabinet?”
Heat scorched my cheeks. I yanked open the door, the words tumbling out of me before I could stop them. “You interrupted me before I could get to that part. Next time, give me a few minutes.”
His eyes darkened, starting at my chest, then leisurely dragging down to my legs before sliding back up. Hazel flecked with green, his gaze was molten.
Oh. My. God. Was he checking me out? If so, it was fucking hot.
A light sheen of sweat broke out across my forehead.
His teeth grazed his lower lip. “Everything fits okay?” His voice was low, husky.
Holy moly.
Done. I’m just done.
I’d never had a guy look at me like that.
RIP to my favorite pink lace panties—they spontaneously burst into flames.
Panic took the wheel. I darted to the counter, yanked open the top drawer, and blurted, “Toothbrush. Clean teeth. No plaque. Cavities are bad.” Smooth, Ellie. So damn smooth. My previous relationships had not adequately prepared me for Drew’s smolder.
The drawer stuck, then gave way with a snap. A cascade of toothbrushes tumbled out like I’d just hit the jackpot on the dental hygiene slot machine. Pink, blue, green—at least a dozen rattled around before settling.
My jaw dropped. “Um … Drew? Are you planning to host a toothbrush convention? Or are you secretly Snow White, except with dental dwarves?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s … my family being ridiculous.”
“Oh, this I need to hear.” I grabbed a pink toothbrush and waggled it at him like a microphone. “Tell me everything. My family’s too stuck-up and proper. I need to live vicariously through yours.”
That adorable smile— one corner tipping higher than the other—hit me right in the chest. And a little lower. Sexy warm fuzzies danced around my body and my thighs clenched in self-defense.
“Toothbrush,” I reminded myself firmly, slapping toothpaste on like it was a shield. And then, because I’m a beacon of seduction, I began brushing my teeth in front of the hottest man I’d ever seen.
Bad Eleanor groaned. So sexy. Nothing like fluoride to set the mood.
Drew leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, biceps bulging. I nearly choked on mint foam.
Whew. Was it getting hot in here or was it me?
“It was a few years ago. I needed a toothbrush. Just one. So I asked in our family chat if anyone had extras since I was slammed full of meetings that day and couldn’t run out and get one.”
I nodded at the obvious affection I could hear threaded through the annoyed tone of his voice.
“They thought it would be funny for each of them to drop off all the single-use toothbrushes they had. By the end of the day, I had somewhere around thirty. So now, because they think it’s hilarious, every time they get one from the dentist they leave it with me.
And I just throw them in a bathroom drawer. ”
I spat, rinsed, and placed the brush carefully back in its cardboard sleeve like I hadn’t just been the least sexy person alive. “Well, I’m grateful for the family prank. They saved me from cavities. They’re my heroes.”
His gaze flicked to my mouth, and suddenly the air between us shifted. His breathing deepened. His body stilled. “You’ve got a little toothpaste … ” His voice was rough, words trailing off.
I started to turn toward the mirror, but he caught my chin, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
A jolt shot through me, hot and sharp, at the simple touch as he wiped away a bit of toothpaste. Toothpaste should not be sexy. Heat coiled in my chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Toothpaste should not make me want to climb him like a tree.
And yet here we were.
I swayed closer. Or maybe he did. Inches.
Just inches between us. My heart raced. The heat from his body reminded me of how well we fit together on the porch of the B&B.
The way his mouth alone practically brought me to orgasm.
How he felt standing between my thighs and how I was so close to coming before we were interrupted.
And that fear of what happens next was a gentle hum in the background. Practically forgotten.
“Ellie,” he whispered, his voice so low I barely heard him.
I tilted my chin, breath catching, lips parting. I could throw caution to the wind. Just one move and—
“Yoo hoo!” Glamma’s voice yelled from downstairs.
I groaned, forehead thunking gently against Drew’s chest.
Worst. Timing. Ever.