The Cad and the Co-Ed
Page 53
Shaking out my limbs, then rubbing my stiff neck, I eyed the benches. Quickly crossing to the nearest one, I sat with a sigh and continued kneading the space between my shoulder blades. My feet hurt. I’d been standing—or jogging—all day and had been fantasizing about my tiny bathtub since lunch.
Granted, my tiny bathtub wasn’t really tiny. It was just tiny to me, since I was Amazonian by most standards.
“Eilish.”
I stiffened, whipping my head over my shoulder at the sound of my name, my mouth going completely dry.
Bryan.
I could have said, Hi, Bryan.
I could have.
I could also have given him a smile of greeting, or maybe even a little wave. Both would have been acceptable.
But, no.
No.
No.
Instead, I stared at him, freshly showered, still wet hair, a white towel hanging low around his hips, baring his luscious thighs. The towel was entirely too small. It might as well have been a postage stamp.
And that tattoo . . .
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him since Saturday. Today was Tuesday, and I’d given him two massages in the gym, safely surrounded by all his teammates and coaches. We hadn’t spoken much, only about his knee and how he was feeling.
But he’d texted me earlier in the day about getting together again.
Bryan: When can I see you and Patrick?
Me: I’ll get back to you with a time for this weekend.
Bryan: How about after work one day this week?
I hadn’t responded, mostly because I hadn’t had a free moment to think all day. Skipping lunch, I’d been rushing from one appointment to the next. Therefore, all thoughts of Bryan had taken a back seat to work.
But now he was in front of me and I was a little afraid I’d just drooled on myself. This time it wasn’t just his body or the memory of our night together that turned my insides to mush. It was that I knew him now, he wore a housecoat and drank mint tea and had to wear reading glasses. He’d saved me from a cockroach and shared one of his most embarrassing stories in order to make me feel better.
And it was the memory of how kind and understanding he’d been when I told him he had a son. And how he already loved Patrick. And how he’d helped with the dishes and touched my neck and called me beautiful.
No.
He didn’t call you beautiful.
He called your hair beautiful.
He’d called me beautiful before, but that was because Bryan had always had a thing for redheads.
I shook myself—quite literally—and forced my eyes to his face, feeling a rush of heat flood my neck and cheeks.
“Hi,” I said on an exhale, ripping my gaze away and turning my back on him, because, A) I was tremendously embarrassed by my unprofessionalism—i.e. blatant ogling, B) the reminder of Bryan’s penchant for redheads had me remembering the morning and months after our one night together, and C) when I’d glanced at his face he was smirking.
And it was a knowing smirk, like he knew how the sight of him affected me.
He’d said nothing as I’d ogled him, nothing at all. Just stood there silently, almost as though his postage-stamp towel had been planned for my benefit. I covered my face with my hands, pressing my cold fingers to my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said to the room, shaking my head as I stood from the bench. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. I was, uh, just waiting for William.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I jumped and turned as he spoke because his voice was surprisingly close. Sure enough, Bryan was standing just three feet away, his massive arms crossed over his impressive chest.
Massive, impressive, enchanted.
Resisting the urge to hold my hands out between us—to warn him off—I clenched them into fists at my sides. Plus, he was still smirking. His full mouth curved to one side, his eyes hooded, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“I had fun on Saturday,” he said, his voice low as his eyes skimmed over my face, dipped to my neck, then rested on my lips. “When can I see you again?”
“Uh.” Crackers. “Sure. Yes. Of course. I know Patrick would enjoy it. Let me ask Sean when he’s free this week.”
Bryan’s eyes cut to mine, narrowed slightly. “Why do you need to ask Sean?”
“So we can . . .” My mind went blank, and I tried to swallow. I’d like to think it was because of the way his jade-green stare was focused on mine, like a probing, unrelenting drill of suspicion.
But, no.
It wasn’t his eyes.
It was his proximity. And the fact that I could smell his soap. And the sexy tribal tattoo covering his arm and shoulder. And his straining towel, holding on to his hips for dear life, a single gust of wind would be enough to blow it away and leave him completely naked.
WHY OH WHY IS HIS TOWEL SO SMALL?
Oh no, my thoughts were in capital letters.
THIS IS VERY BAD!
“We don’t need Sean there.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he shuffled a step closer.
“I’d-I’d like Sean to be there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to confuse Patrick.”
“Confuse him how?” Bryan cocked his head to the side, taking another step closer and forcing me to retreat until my back connected with a locker.
“You’re the first man I’ve introduced him to.”
Bryan stood a little straighter, and his eyes warmed at this news, his mouth once again curving with a smile.
“Have you taken the DNA test yet?” I crossed my arms, lifting my chin.
Granted, my tiny bathtub wasn’t really tiny. It was just tiny to me, since I was Amazonian by most standards.
“Eilish.”
I stiffened, whipping my head over my shoulder at the sound of my name, my mouth going completely dry.
Bryan.
I could have said, Hi, Bryan.
I could have.
I could also have given him a smile of greeting, or maybe even a little wave. Both would have been acceptable.
But, no.
No.
No.
Instead, I stared at him, freshly showered, still wet hair, a white towel hanging low around his hips, baring his luscious thighs. The towel was entirely too small. It might as well have been a postage stamp.
And that tattoo . . .
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him since Saturday. Today was Tuesday, and I’d given him two massages in the gym, safely surrounded by all his teammates and coaches. We hadn’t spoken much, only about his knee and how he was feeling.
But he’d texted me earlier in the day about getting together again.
Bryan: When can I see you and Patrick?
Me: I’ll get back to you with a time for this weekend.
Bryan: How about after work one day this week?
I hadn’t responded, mostly because I hadn’t had a free moment to think all day. Skipping lunch, I’d been rushing from one appointment to the next. Therefore, all thoughts of Bryan had taken a back seat to work.
But now he was in front of me and I was a little afraid I’d just drooled on myself. This time it wasn’t just his body or the memory of our night together that turned my insides to mush. It was that I knew him now, he wore a housecoat and drank mint tea and had to wear reading glasses. He’d saved me from a cockroach and shared one of his most embarrassing stories in order to make me feel better.
And it was the memory of how kind and understanding he’d been when I told him he had a son. And how he already loved Patrick. And how he’d helped with the dishes and touched my neck and called me beautiful.
No.
He didn’t call you beautiful.
He called your hair beautiful.
He’d called me beautiful before, but that was because Bryan had always had a thing for redheads.
I shook myself—quite literally—and forced my eyes to his face, feeling a rush of heat flood my neck and cheeks.
“Hi,” I said on an exhale, ripping my gaze away and turning my back on him, because, A) I was tremendously embarrassed by my unprofessionalism—i.e. blatant ogling, B) the reminder of Bryan’s penchant for redheads had me remembering the morning and months after our one night together, and C) when I’d glanced at his face he was smirking.
And it was a knowing smirk, like he knew how the sight of him affected me.
He’d said nothing as I’d ogled him, nothing at all. Just stood there silently, almost as though his postage-stamp towel had been planned for my benefit. I covered my face with my hands, pressing my cold fingers to my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said to the room, shaking my head as I stood from the bench. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. I was, uh, just waiting for William.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I jumped and turned as he spoke because his voice was surprisingly close. Sure enough, Bryan was standing just three feet away, his massive arms crossed over his impressive chest.
Massive, impressive, enchanted.
Resisting the urge to hold my hands out between us—to warn him off—I clenched them into fists at my sides. Plus, he was still smirking. His full mouth curved to one side, his eyes hooded, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“I had fun on Saturday,” he said, his voice low as his eyes skimmed over my face, dipped to my neck, then rested on my lips. “When can I see you again?”
“Uh.” Crackers. “Sure. Yes. Of course. I know Patrick would enjoy it. Let me ask Sean when he’s free this week.”
Bryan’s eyes cut to mine, narrowed slightly. “Why do you need to ask Sean?”
“So we can . . .” My mind went blank, and I tried to swallow. I’d like to think it was because of the way his jade-green stare was focused on mine, like a probing, unrelenting drill of suspicion.
But, no.
It wasn’t his eyes.
It was his proximity. And the fact that I could smell his soap. And the sexy tribal tattoo covering his arm and shoulder. And his straining towel, holding on to his hips for dear life, a single gust of wind would be enough to blow it away and leave him completely naked.
WHY OH WHY IS HIS TOWEL SO SMALL?
Oh no, my thoughts were in capital letters.
THIS IS VERY BAD!
“We don’t need Sean there.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he shuffled a step closer.
“I’d-I’d like Sean to be there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to confuse Patrick.”
“Confuse him how?” Bryan cocked his head to the side, taking another step closer and forcing me to retreat until my back connected with a locker.
“You’re the first man I’ve introduced him to.”
Bryan stood a little straighter, and his eyes warmed at this news, his mouth once again curving with a smile.
“Have you taken the DNA test yet?” I crossed my arms, lifting my chin.
