Page 92 of Before We Were

He catches my eye and grins. "Hi."

Words jam in my throat. He laughs, stepping closer, and the air between us crackles with electricity.

"You're naked," I blurt out.

The laugh sends shivers down my spine. I'm speechless, still unable to look away. He leans in close enough that his breath fans warm across my cheek, the scent of mint toothpaste teasing my senses.

"If you're gonna keep staring," he whispers, his voice dropping to a velvet rumble as his smirk deepens, "at least buy me dinner first." The words hang between us like a promise, an invitation in the narrowing space.

"I—I wasn't??—"

"Your face says otherwise," he teases, folding his arms and flexing, making it impossible not to notice every defined muscle.

I roll my eyes, attempting deflection, but my racing heart betrays me. This isn't the Nate of my childhood anymore—he's transformed into something more, something overwhelming.

The greenish-gold of his eyes burns fierce, but there's a shift. The vulnerability I've glimpsed these past few days vanishes, replaced by raw hunger that steals my breath.

"Are you done?" My voice wavers.

"Are we done?" His tone is low, teasing, with an edge that sends electricity through my veins.

"What?" I blink, disoriented.

"Huh?" He tilts his head, clearly enjoying my struggle to keep my eyes off his ripped body.

Shit.

My body refuses to move, every nerve ignited. Nate bends down slowly, grip tightening on his towel as he retrieves my forgotten phone. He stays on one knee, looking up through those impossibly long lashes, lips curled in that infuriating smile that makes my stomach flip.

"You dropped this."

"Right. Thanks." The words sound foreign in my ears.

He stands and somehow the space between us is even smaller. I try to brush past him, his heat nearly suffocates me. When he finally lets me pass, I slam the door behind me. Only when his footsteps fade do I exhale, pressing my forehead against the cool surface. Just as I'm about to shower, a knock startles me. I reach for a towel only to realize there are none.

Perfect.

I crack the door open carefully, hiding behind it. There's Nate—fully clothed now, thank God—holding fresh towels, his smirk unchanged.

"You might need these." His eyes glint knowingly.

"Thank you," I manage, clutching the doorframe like a lifeline while keeping my naked body hidden behind it. "Wouldn't want another naked run-in, would we?" The words escape before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like an accidental invitation.

Nate's eyes darken perceptibly, the transition so subtle yet so powerful it steals my breath. He leans against the doorframe with one arm, the defined muscles of his forearm tensing visibly beneath sun-kissed skin. His bicep flexes against the fabric of his shirt, the cotton stretching taut over the curve of muscle. His body angles closer to mine, close enough that I catch the lingering scent of his cologne and now I feel drunk off his scent alone.

Dear God.

"I wouldn't hate it," he murmurs, voice dropping to that dangerous register that seems to vibrate directly against my skin. His cocky grin spreads slowly, deliberately, revealing perfect teeth and the hint of a dimple I haven’t seen in a long time. The look in his eyes is equal parts playful and hungry, as if he's imagining exactly what he'd see if the door between us disappeared.

What the hell is happening right now?

Heat floods my cheeks and cascades downward, warming places I refuse to acknowledge. I accept the towels with trembling fingers, our skin brushing again in a contact that feels anything but accidental. His thumb traces the lightest circle on my wrist before releasing me.

"Enjoy your shower, Nora," he says, my name on his lips sounding like something sinful, something sacred.

I close the door quickly, perhaps too quickly, leaning against it as steam from the running shower swirls around me. My heart hammers against my ribs—a chaotic rhythm that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with that deeper, more primal sensation I've been trying desperately to ignore since the day we met.

The bathroom mirror has begun to fog, but not before I catch a glimpse of my reflection—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips slightly parted. I barely recognize myself, this woman undone by a few words and meaningful glances.

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