He whipped off his pants next and dug into his dresser for a new pair. He eyed his favorite pair of well-worn jeans.
He sensed her presence before he heard her clear her throat. His back muscles tensed under the power of her scrutiny, and he was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but black briefs. What was she doing?
Because there was no way she’d gotten lost in his house looking for the bathroom.
Should he turn around? Could he bear it if she looked at him with wariness in her eyes—as he’d seen her do these last weeks—rather than the hunger and frank appreciation he remembered? He couldn’t bear to know.
“In case you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s down the hall.” She could take the out if she wanted it.
“I’m not lost,” she said, and he clutched the jeans to his stomach.
“What can I do for you then?” he asked, trying to decide if he should put on his jeans or simply wait for her to leave the room.
“You can turn around and tell me why you spilled your drink on purpose.”
There was fire in her voice. He turned around, still keeping the jeans against his body. It was almost funny. He’d never been modest before.
“Why are you angry?”
Her brow knit. “Did you do it because you wanted to escape from me? I know tonight has been…strained.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to decide how to answer. “If it’s been strained, it’s my fault. I was trying to be romantic, and it backfired. Frankly, I’ve been sweating like a hog all night. I stink, and I didn’t want you to end up gagging if we kiss later. The drink was a necessary casualty so I could change clothes without it being weird. But hey? Weird is here.”
“You changed because you stink?” she asked, her mouth twitching. “You’ve been sweating like a hog?” She started laughing.
“It’s not funny. I’m trying to be on my best behavior with you. To impress you, but apparently all it does is make me sweat. Are you happy now?” His temper was getting hotter the more she laughed, and he knew he needed to rein it in, but he was so damn tired of glossing over everything. So damn tired of constantly feeling like he was on the chopping block. “So, let me change in peace and put on more deodorant. Then I’ll get your dessert.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth. “So your whole monster-in-the-stomach sounds weren’t from hunger?”
The tips of his ears flushed hot. “Out.” He crossed the room toward her, prepared to lift her out of his room and close the door in her face if need be.
“Oh, Blake. What am I going to do with you?” she asked, still giggling. “Here, let me see how bad it is.”
He darted back a few steps in horror when she leaned forward to sniff him. “Hey! Cut it out. I’m trying to be nice here.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so nice.”
This was not a conversation to be had while he was wearing briefs. He shoved one leg in his jeans. “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t. At the rate we’re going, I’m going to end up with IBS.”
She made a gurgling noise like his stomach had made, and he was lifting his other leg to pull on his jeans when she reached out a hand and shoved him. He toppled to the floor.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“For trying so hard. For twisting yourself up into knots. Why can’t you relax?”
Outrage turned his cheeks red. “Why can’t you?”
“Because we’re trying to date when we’ve been married. Like Rhett would say, you can’t put that horse back into the barn.”
“Natalie, you’ve got to level with me here. I have one leg in my jeans, and I’m sprawled on the floor. I reek of sweat. So don’t talk in riddles…what in the hell do you suggest we do?”
She stopped laughing. Her eyes ran up the soles of his bare feet to his thighs, settling on the bulge in his briefs. After an arresting pause, which had his heart pounding, she continued her assessment up his torso. Finally she met his eyes.
“We can’t pretend to date, Blake, not when we both remember how it used to be between us.”
Then what the hell had they been doing these last weeks? A strangled sound escaped from his throat. He sat up and stared at her. “Tell me what you’re trying to say then,” he said hoarsely, his skin prickling as he awaited her response.
“Every time we’re together, it’s like the big elephant in the room, isn’t it? That’s why it’s so hard to find things to talk about when we’re together. We’re not being normal with each other.” She gestured to him. “This is the most normal we’ve been. This is the first time I’ve laughed easily with you other than over playing with Touchdown or watching TV.”
He snorted. “I do believe you laughed when I wore that Don Johnson 1980s outfit, not to mention when the guys hung all my underwear out in the tree.”
Her blue eyes softened. “Yes, I did.”