Page 13 of Hot for the Jerk

I’d been gaping.

“Did you leave any hot water?”I asked, pushing past him.

“Ice queens don’t need hot water,” he said, grabbing his bag off the floor and tossing it onto the bed.“They prefer cold plunges.”

I slammed the bathroom door with another growl, chugged the rest of the wine bottle—since it was still in my hand—and peeled out of my wet, vomit-covered clothes.The bathroom was warm and steamy, and smelled delicious.Like manly body wash.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I really hated how much I liked the smell.Because it was obviously Jagger’s own stuff, since the body wash included with the place smelled like artificial lavender.I loved real lavender, but the cheap artificial stuff was gross.

Luckily, I also brought my own body wash.I turned on the tap for the shower.Thank god, that selfish dick left me some hot water.I scrubbed myself from head to toe, giving my hair a really thorough clean, along with my pants and the hoodie I’d been wearing beneath my open jacket when my puke came flying back at me.

Once my fingers resembled raisins, I turned off the water and seriously considered parading myself out into the room in front of him in nothing but a towel, since two could absolutely play that game.Ultimately though, I decided against it and just changed into my flannel bunny-rabbit pajamas.They were dark-blue with cute, little, white bunnies nibbling on carrots all over them.Marco bought them for me last year for Christmas and I absolutely loved them.I put my dark-red hair into two Dutch braids down the back, pulled on my last remaining pair of dry, clean socks, and braced myself for the beast on the other side of the door.

I now had an entire bottle of wine in my bloodstream and was feeling rather tipsy.Which was better than murderous, since I was seriously contemplating putting a pillow over Jagger’s face before I got warm in the shower.

He sat on the bed up against the headboard, a beer in one hand and a book in the other.Those stupid, round, wire-rimmed glasses were back on his face, and goddammit, they made my lower belly clench.At least he wore more clothes now.Plaid flannel pajama pants and a tight, black V-neck shirt that looked like it was painted on.His feet were bare though.

My eyes refused to move from his feet.His ankles were crossed and motherfucker … his feet were massive.I couldn’t get over the size of them.They were about as big as a newborn, for god’s sake.

“What the hell’s your problem?”he asked, lifting his gaze from the pages of his book.

I blinked a few times, pulled in a deep breath, and shook my head.“Nothing.”

Tipping his beer to his lips, he rolled his eyes.“Wash all the chunks from your hair there, Elsa?”

Elsa?

“There’s beer in the fridge if you want something besides wine,” he offered, jerking his chin toward the mini fridge before glancing at the empty wine bottle in my hand.His brows rose.“I see.”

Growling, mostly inaudibly, I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer—the cranberry and pomegranate lager—and twisted off the cap.He continued to watch me as I took a sip.

Cautiously, I moved over to the bed and sat down on the opposite corner, ensuring that we could not be any further apart unless I was on the floor.

My eyes zeroed back in on his feet.

Shit.

I needed to find somewhere else to look besides at those monsters.Because not only were they huge, they were also nice, actually.And I was absolutely not a foot person.I’m sure I had kinks.Everybody did.But feet weren’t one of mine.However, I also knew gnarly feet when I saw them, and Jagger’s feet weren’t gnarly.I really wished they were though.It would have made things a hell of a lot easier.But no, he had to have non-ugly feet.With long, nice-shaped toes, trimmed nails, and even the light dusting of hair on the tops and knuckles of each toe was kind of … sexy.

Look somewhere else, you drunk freak.

Blinking and shaking my head, I scanned the room, only for my gaze to land on the cover of his book.It was some sci-fi thing with aliens and a spaceship on the cover.I knew he was into sci-fi from our book club, but for some reason I didn’t think heactuallyread the books we talked about.He struck me as the kind of guy who went onto Wikipedia the night before our book club met and read the notes, and then just pretended to like sci-fi books so he sounded smart and interesting.

I took another long swig of the beer.It was delicious.I hated that I liked it.

However, it wasn’t like it was Jagger’s beer.He wasn’t the brewmaster.Clint was.And I liked Clint.So I didn’t hate that I liked it as much anymore.

The wine in my bloodstream made my brain spin too fast and I couldn’t get out any words.Not that I had any idea what I would actually say to Jagger, but for some reason, the silence between us felt more awkward than if we were speaking.It was a more silent silence than I’d ever experienced before, and it just made my eyes keep drifting back to his bare feet.Then I’d grow angry because there was absolutely nothing unappealing about them, except for the fact that they were feet.

I sipped more beer, because at least then my hands and mouth were moving.And if my mouth was full, I couldn’t speak, right?Right.

Before I knew it, I finished the beer and stumbled my way to the mini fridge where I grabbed another bottle, this time, the winter chai Witbier.All Jagger did was watch me.He hadn’t said anything though, and it drove me nuts.

Say something!I yelled at him in my head.

His eyes traveled back down to the pages of his book, and he flipped one, which for some reason irritated the crap out of me as I sat on the corner of the bed again, stewing.

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