He gives my upper lip a soft nip before backing away. “Heartless wench.” And then, before I can change my mind and grab him, he hobbles into the shower and stands under the spray.
No, I will not watch. I will not. My mouth goes dry. Those fine muscles are defined by taut skin, all slick and shining. Water runs in rivulets off of his still half-hard cock. I suck in a breath and close the door on his knowing laugh.
Fleeing to the relative safety of Drew’s room, I pull back the covers on the bed and arrange the pillows so he can lie comfortably. It feels good doing this for him, yet anticipation bumps around in my belly. I am going to sleep here with him. I’ve done so before. Though never like this, never planned and without the promise of sex. I prefer this way, knowing that I’m here because I simply want to be with him. Letting go frees me more than I thought possible.
I’m smiling as I catch a glance in the mirror, then halt in horror. My hair has a fuzz factor of ten.
“Holy hell.” Mad snarls stand out around my head. I’m like a girl version of freaking Carrot Top. And I’ve been flirting with Drew like this. I almost moan, but stifle it when I hear the shower stop.
I grab my toiletries bag as he comes into the room.
Drew, of course, does not bother with a towel. No, he’s perfectly fine limping in butt-naked and giving me a cheeky grin.
“I’m taking a shower,” I say as I edge past him, dying to hold down my maniacal hair.
He raises an irate brow. “Then why didn’t you shower with me?”
“You know why.” I’m almost to safety.
“Wasting water is a crime in some states, Jones,” he calls, as I scuttle into the bathroom.
“Good thing we don’t live in one of those states.” I close the door on him.
Despite my hair nightmare, Drew’s shower is heaven. I bend my neck and let the hot water pour down on my aching muscles. But I don’t linger long. I want to be with Drew now.
Putting on enough product to make my hair behave, I look around for my nightshirt and curse. I’ve forgotten it. And while I’m not shy about Drew seeing me naked, it seems like a tease to do it now. Not that going out wrapped in a towel won’t be either. I could put on my clothes, but they stink of hospital too. Then I spy one of his shirts hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It smells clean, so I take it, only to realize that it’s one of his jerseys.
I slip the jersey over my head, and it falls to my knees, the sleeves flopping around my elbows. I dither, wondering whether to keep it on when I hear him from the other room.
“Did you get lost in there, Jones?”
Rolling my eyes, I put some lotion on my legs. “Impatient much?”
“Hey,” he says from the room, “what’s with this little jar here?”
I crack the door open. “It’s olive oil.” I’d left a small jar of it on his bedside table. “The team physical therapist said you might be sore, and I didn’t have any massage oil so…”
“You talked to my PT?” He sounds a bit strangled, surprised, but not angry.
“Of course.” I walk into the room. “I wouldn’t be much help to you if I didn’t. I can massage your leg now if you… What?” I stop at the foot of the bed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because he’s hauling himself up from his slouch in the bed, his muscles bunched and tense, and he’s gaping at me. For a moment we simply stare at each other. God, but he’s a sight. The lamplight glows warmly on his golden skin, a sharp contrast to the white bedding that lies low over his narrow hips, the cover more a tease then a barrier.
Drew breaks the silence.
“You…” He clears his throat. “You’re seriously trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Are you high?” I laugh softly, but my heart rate has increased to an excited flutter.
“Maybe.” His lips curl into a tilted smile. “You look utterly, spectacularly hot in my jersey, Anna Jones.”
I roll my eyes, but grin. “You are high.”