Page 47 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Oh, and he was shirtless. He’d obviously just gotten back from a workout, and I couldn’t help the physical response I had to him. Yes, I’d seen him before, imperious and bare-chested when he answered the door holding his fluffy white cat, but not since… not since he’d becomerealto me.
He must’ve heard my odd sound, because he shot to his feet. “Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?”
“N-No. No. No.”Oh, Lord, stop it.I hadn’t been this tongue-tied around him since that first time either. I didn’t plan to start now just because he flashed his perfectly carved pecs and arms and abs and… everythingat me.
“Do you need something?” he asked, taking a step closer, one foot in a shoe, one out.
“Uh.” I laughed, just one elegantha, then went on. “I wanted to be up early in case anyone wanted breakfast. I haven’t cooked at all and thought I could help.”
A smile lit his eyes. “That’s nice of you. I’m sure they’d love it. They’ll probably be out any minute. I was just checking the schedule.”
He held up his phone.
“In your running shorts?”
Because that was the other thing. The shorts weren’t quite what I’d heard people callranger panties, which were super short, minimal running shorts. But they definitely showed off a great deal of his extremely muscular quads. Like, the kind of quads that probably didn’t even fit in jeans. Or, maybe now, in the modern world, they did, thanks to technology and super stretchy denim.
Are you seriously standing here thinking about the fiber content of jeans that would fit over his leg muscles?I shook my head to clear it.
He chuckled, and amazingly, flushed.
“I just finished working out. No one else was up and I overheated.” He gestured to a pile of clothes that looked like a sweatshirt and T-shirt, clearly hastily tossed on the floor. “I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s… I mean, I’m about to go spend the day staring at shirtless men and women in sports bras and boy shorts. That’s—you’re—it’s fine.” Mortification poured over me from head to toe.
He squinted then looked down at his toes.
“Okay.” He glanced back up at me tentatively, a wry smile pulling at those perfect lips. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”
I nodded, then kicked myself into action. I did not need to watch him prowl toward me, muscles hanging over him like plates of steel under skin, and I did not need the temptation of watching him go.
A small part of me wondered if the disparity between us might be a problem. Like, could you enjoy grilled cheese made with white bread and a Kraft single paired with a fine red wine? I mean, I could. If the grilled cheese was made right. It was all in the way you toasted the bread—had to have butter to—oh, good grief. He’d addled my mind with his abs and his little grin.
I wasn’t anywhere nearthatkind of fit. He’d said I was perfect, which was lovely, but would he really want to be with someone so comparatively… soft? Not to mention, I’d probably always be acutely aware of how beautiful he was. I had decent self-esteem and believed strongly that looks were only a part of the equation, but this man…
I shook that off, banishing the hazy, hot feeling that had arrived the moment I’d caught a glimpse of that bowed head and the broad caps of his shoulders.
Eggs. Omelets.Food. I’d feed everyone, and hopefully, the process would help me move past the devastation that was Nick Masters wearing nothing but shorts, socks, and a blush.
