Chapter 4

Oh, but you do. You want him to want you right now, and you want him to think you don’t notice his husky voice or how the rain has shaped his eyelashes into long black spikes. He has a girl’s lashes, and you can’t wait until he’s asleep so you can rest your finger on his cheek just to watch those dark hairs curve across your skin.

But that’s later. Now you hold up the towel and tell him, “Why don’t you take off that shirt? This’ll dry you off a bit.”

He obeys. That’s another thing you love about him; he never thinks to question you. The shirt is stripped off, tossed away—beneath it, the tank top is molded to his chest, hugging every muscle, and his nipples stand out like nuggets against the taut material. “This too?” he asks.

Before you can answer, he’s pulling it up over his head slowly, his arms flexing—you want him to hope you’re staring.

You are.