Page 32 of Speeding Hearts

I tried it again, yanking as hard as I dared. I needed two hands. I made sure my towel was knotted tightly around me, then I grabbed the handle with both hands and jerked hard. The door opened, swinging fast and taking me with it.

I flew backward, landing on my ass on the ground, my towel sliding open.

The door banged against the trailer.

“Stella!” Dean cried.

Shit.

I grabbed the towel, cinching it around me. Had he seen?

Dean had stopped a few feet away from me.

I stood up, gathering my towel against me, along with what was left of my dignity. I cleared my throat. He was close enough that even in the low light, I could see Dean’s expression, his wide eyes and pinched mouth. “Stella, I—”

“What did you see?” I said, the words popping out before I could stop them.

“What did I—”

“Yes, what did you see? Which parts? Top? Bottom? Front, back?”

“Stella—” I could see him searching for words. Or was he trying not to laugh?

“The whole shebang?”

“It’s dark,” he said, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

“I have nothing to wear,” I said.

The shadow of a smile I thought I saw on his face dropped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Clearly, neither did I. I’m going to see what’s in there.”

“Unless you want to wear a sheet as a toga, there isn’t much more than what you already have on. But here.”

He reached for his collar and in one swift movement, pulled off his t-shirt.

Dean Hughes, my friend, my off-limits, maybe attached to someone else, don’t want to ruin our friendship bestie, was standing there with no shirt on, his body a hard, broad shadow in the dusk.

He held his shirt out to me, and for a moment I didn’t move. Then, I snatched it and stepped inside the open door of the trailer.

I shouldn’t have put his shirt on.

Not that it was better to be naked, but the moment I dropped the soft fabric over my head, I was overwhelmed by him. His scent was everywhere—an intoxicating mix of soap and something like the trees and creek around us. And something else: a scent that was so distinctly him it made my knees nearly buckle under me.

I hadn’t known it was his, but now it was so familiar my chest ached.

The feeling of the fabric on my bare skin was almost worse. It clung to every part of me—it felt likehimtouching me. His palms on my shoulders, his lips along my collarbone. His chest brushing my tightened nipples…

“Stella?” Dean called from outside.

I cleared my throat. I needed another cold shower. “One sec,” I said. I tossed the towel on the hook beside the door and flicked on the lights.

A fluorescent tube lit up overhead, snapping and fizzing. The light was decidedly unsexy.

It was perfect.

I went to the door, which I’d left open. Dean stood there, his skin lit up outside with the faint glow from the light. His arms were folded across his chest, as if he were self-conscious.

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