Page 56 of If Love Had A Manual

I hear him talking to Rosie and asking her where I am, as if she can respond. He’s really not letting this speaking to her like an adult thing go.

Jesus Christ, Lena, get a hold of yourself and hurry.

My arms tangle hopelessly in my sweater. I twist around, flailing like a confused octopus, just as his heavy footsteps sound against the steps of the stairs.

No, no, no.

Do not do this to me today, Wesley.

“Do not come in here!” I shout, voice muffled by the fabric twisted over my face.

“What?” he bellows, his voice closer than I expect.

God, I must sound like I’m being strangled.

I stomp my foot in frustration, but I only manage to lose my balance and nearly crash into the changing table.

“DO. NOT. ENTER.”

I finally free one arm as the door swings open, leaving me standing here with my face covered, and the rest of me exposed. Today was a bad day to feel adventurous and wear a lace bra.

“Shit—fuck—sorry!” Wes rasps out like something is caught in his throat.

I wrestle my sweater back down just in time to see him facing the door, muscles in his back rigid against his white, grease-stained t-shirt.

“At least you’re a gentleman,” I mutter, chest heaving, hair wild, dignity lost.

“Didn’t realize you were... ” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Under attack by my clothing?”

His shoulders shake. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“I specifically saidnotto come in.”

“In my defense, you sounded like you were fighting off a rabid raccoon. It was very concerning.”

I cross my arms, painfully aware that I look ridiculous. My face is flushed, my hair is a tangled disaster, and I’m standing in a puke-stained sweater that I’m sure is now see-through. This is not my most attractive moment.

Turning ever so cautiously, his eyes meet mine for a long breath before they drag down my body. I swear I see the muscles in his jaw flex as his hands curl into loose fists at his sides.

And I definitely don’t miss how his eyes darken before snapping back up to my face.

God, this isn’t fair. He should not be allowed to look this good while I’m wearing literal vomit.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rougher than usual.

“This isn’t my vomit.”

“I guessed.”

I clear my throat, cheeks flaming even hotter. “Are you just going to keep staring or…?”

“You finished fighting with yourclothes yet?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He props his shoulder against the door frame with a smirk, enjoying every second. “I’m just checking in. Occupational safety and all that.”

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