I made a proceed motion with my hand. “Knock yourself out.”
Another soft chuckle filled the room before Boone closed the bathroom door.
While he took care of his business, I headed for my bed, throwing off the decorative pillows and throws before folding down the blankets and sheet. The same flowery fabric softener lingered in the sheets, transporting me back to my childhood and adolescence.
I’d just turned off a couple of the lamps staggered around my room when the bathroom door exploded open and Boone marched out of it . . . right before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto his boots. I tried not to stare. I didn’t want to stare.
I couldn’t help but stare.
When his hands lowered to his jeans, unfastening the button before moving to his zipper, my blood curdled. “What do you think you’re doing?” My voice came out squeaky and high.
Boone paused, mid-zipper-lowering. “Getting ready for bed.”
“And this requires stripping?”
His head tilted as he took a good look at me. The corners of his mouth twitched when he noticed me clutching my pillow like I was about to strangle it. “Well, yeah, unless you have another set of those pink silky jammies. I’m not exactly into wearing stiff, heavy jeans to bed.” He waited—I guess giving me a minute to offer him a pair of pink silky pajamas—before tugging his jeans down his legs and stepping out of them. “There. Much better.”
He curled his jeans into a ball and flung them into the same corner as the rest of his stuff, giving me a front-row seat to checking him out when he wasn’t looking. My throat ran dry, my arms tightening around the pillow clutched to my chest. Boone had always been in possession of a good body. The kind a girl couldn’t help staring at and wondering what it would feel like wrapped around hers.
Years later, and nothing had changed. While some guys his age were starting to show signs of a gut, Boone’s was still flat and hard, carved with so many lines and planes my eyes felt close to crossing from staring at them. His shoulders had gotten wider, his back broadening too. His skin was already browned from the summer, and from what I could tell, he hadn’t gone and tattooed himself up like I knew my parents and our high school teachers had predicted.
All this time had passed and I didn’t have a sliver of the feelings now I’d had for him then, but I still found myself being pulled toward him. Almost like a planet orbiting the sun, I couldn’t escape his pull.
I plastered on an unaffected face and got back to fiddling with the blankets. “Is that really necessary?”
“Is what really necessary?”
“Sleeping in your underwear.” Talking about them made me look at them, which made my throat run dry all over again.
Boone shrugged. “I’ve always slept in my underwear.”
“Yeah, but you’re not exactly sleeping alone, free to strut around however you want.”
A smile that was a bit too knowing worked into position. “I remember wearing a whole lot less whenever it was just you and me in this room, Clara. If that’s what you’re getting at, I can just as easily go commando . . .”
When his hands moved to the waist of his boxers, I sat up. “The boxers work just fine, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Boone snatched the pillow from my arms and dropped it on the floor. “Thanks for the pillow.”
I pretended to ignore the grin he fired my way, and I finished turning off the lights. I kept the small lamp glowing on the table across my room, unsure I was ready to be in a dark room with Boone again. After crawling into my bed and tucking the sheet over me, I rolled over to the edge where he was just getting settled onto the carpet below.
“Thanks for staying in my bedroom like I asked.” Then I snatched the pillow right back.
His head hit the floor with a bump that was accompanied by a surprised grunt. “Is that an invitation into your bed, or are you trying to prove a point that there are consequences for not obeying your highness?”
Accompanied by the darkness, Boone’s low, smoky voice brought back memories I did not want to have resurrected when he was stretched out half naked less than a few feet away and I was still two shades past tipsy.
“I think you can figure out the answer to that question on your own.” I kept my eyes focused on the ceiling, the sheet tucked tight under my arms.
“I’m not sure I can. I’ve never had much of a talent for figuring you out.”
My eyes narrowed at the ceiling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what you think it’s supposed to mean.” From the sound of his voice, I knew his back was to me.
“You’re hopeless when it comes to trying, wanting, or pretending to decipher people’s feelings?” I stuffed the pillow I’d just stolen back from him beneath my head and tried to get comfortable. In the few seconds it had been pressed around his head, it had taken on his scent. The one that was still the same.