Page 79 of Relationship Goals

“I have an extra toothbrush, too.” He raises one dark eyebrow. “If that’s why you’re covering your mouth. Want it? It’s brand-new. I bought a whole pack of them at Costco.”

“Please,” I say, not moving my hand from my mouth.

“Okay, beautiful. The bathroom is in there. I’ll bring you some sweats. How does a mango protein smoothie sound? Fresh out of seafood, sorry to tell you.”

I grin at him, and he leans in close, kissing my forehead before I can move away.

It’s so sweet it makes me dizzy.

“I can’t believe we fell asleep on the couch.”

“I can. I’m sore as hell from the game.”

“I can’t believe we just did that.” I gulp.

“Regrets, Abigail?” The question is surprisingly gentle.

“No.” I shake my head. “No regrets. Just worried about how my instructor is going to murder my abs today.”

“Murder your abs. Sounds rough.” He rubs his hand down his own abs, and I stare at them for just long enough that he lets out a small huff of a laugh.

An idea dances in front of me, and I seize it before I make the choice to seize that strong, yummy hand and stay in bed all day. “You could do Pilates with me.”

“I thought it was a private lesson.”

“Lauren won’t mind. She’ll be thrilled to have someone else totorture—I mean teach.” I bat my eyelashes at him, and they feel gummy. Yikes. I don’t want to think about my mascara.

Luke crosses to where I stand, gently turning me toward a door.

“This is my bathroom. Take a shower, brush your teeth, do whatever. I’ll leave some clothes on the hook.” He points to one on the door, “and I’ll make us some smoothies. Do you want anything else? English muffin? Coffee?”

“Do you have tea?” I ask him. I love coffee, but coffee and Pilates after a night of cheese fries sounds like a recipe for intestinal distress.

“Tea it is. Black?”

“Please,” I say. “Any kind you have.”

“You got it. Extra toothbrushes are under the sink.” He gives me another kiss on the temple, sending a fresh flock of butterflies winging, and then gently closes the door, leaving me staring at it with a goofy grin on my face.

A man who lets me be me. Who lets me into his bathroom.

The urge to snoop hits me, and it hits me hard. Wrecking-ball strength. Hurricane-force winds strength.

I whistle a tune as I make a beeline for his cabinets, then immediately stop.

Not because it’s suspicious to whistle the theme to James Bond as I spy on the dude I cuddled with all night, but because…his bathroom is impeccably neat.

“What the fuck?” I ask myself.

Sure enough, there’s a package of toothbrushes, and I pop the pink one out for myself and get brushing ASAP. All while snooping, of course.

The towels are neatly rolled and folded.

Each drawer is organized, if spare.

There is a whole drawer full of Icy Hot and KT Tape. That tracks.

There are no beard hairs anywhere in the sink.

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