Page 77 of The Bright Side of Brooding
I turned just as he stepped up to the sink,rightnext to me, and wrung out the shirt.
“Did it just downpour the whole time you walked over here?” I asked, amazed at the amount of water dribbling into the sink and working not to admire the strength of his hands or trace the tendons and veins in his forearms.
“It was barely a drizzle when I stepped out, so I decided I’d jog over, but as soon as I hit the sidewalk, it opened up. Felt more like a southern storm that way. Should’ve grabbed my jacket.” He gave me a wry grin.
A pang hit me at that. I liked everything about him. Everything. Of course I liked his appearance—duh. But that little smile, and the fact that he’d come without me even calling or texting. Like he’d been watching for people to leave. Like he wanted to be here as much as I wanted him here. I could get over his reticence to socialize with people he didn’t know. That wasn’t the end of the world.
All kinds of winged things fluttered around in my belly.
“I doubt I have a shirt that would fit you… or even a sweatshirt. I’ve never been one of those people who keeps her ex’s shirts or anything. But let me go see if I can find something.” I squeezed the arm nearest me as I passed him, his skin pebbled and cool under my hand.
“Thanks.”
I escaped into my closet, ransacking it for anything that might work. I had to have something he could wear. He had to be cold, if not freezing. My house was fairly warm, but he was well and truly soaked just moments ago.
I had not one T-shirt larger than a women’s large, which I knew would look like a child’s size on him. The only idea I did have, I delivered to him and did my best to keep a straight face.
“So. This is all I could find that might even begin to cover you.”
A brow flared, and he smiled.
“Looks cozy.” He took the item from me.
“It is.”
My voice had dropped and sounded weirdly sensual. But as he slipped his long, muscled arms into the sleeves of my bubblegum pink fuzzy robe, some of those grippy, desirous feelings eased. I burst out laughing.
He scowled. “You give me the robe to wear, then laugh at me?”
He pulled the sides together. They’d overlap on me, but they didn’t quite meet in the middle for him. He tied a quick knot in the belt, then held his arms out for me to take in the full picture.
I laughed harder. “How is it that small on you?”
The sleeves came nearly to his elbows. What was mid-thigh length on me hit him just below the hips. The belt cinched just above his belly button, and the pink color clashed with the olive green of his pants, which were also quite wet. The best part, though, was his face. He found the humor in it, once again proving my judgement of him from weeks ago to be false. I’d assumed a man this pretty couldn’t have a sense of humor, especially not about himself. But there he stood, now striking subtle, ridiculous poses in the robe.
“It’s super soft. I might want one of these.” He brushed his hands down the front.
“I think we should find you one in your size.”
And then, I just had to. I couldn’t resist him anymore. If the sight of his skin and muscle had drawn me in, the image of him donning my bright pink robe with no hint of embarrassment, only good humor, finished me off.
I walked to him with arms out, and he immediately accepted me into a hug. My head rested at the base of his neck, and my hand stroked up along the center of his back, over the robe.
“Thanks for coming to help,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“Of course.”
We lingered in the embrace. Standing in the middle of my kitchen wrapped up in Nick Masters, being held close and smelling the rain and soap scent of him, had emotion clogging my throat. I should’ve been tearing the robe off him, mapping those muscles with my hands, but suddenly, I felt like weeping.
And we couldn’t have any of that. No indeed. So I pecked a kiss to his neck, then pulled back—all the way back, out of his reach, and twirled around to set to work on dishes. If I let him see the tears shimmering in my eyes, he’d worry. And then I’d probably lose my grip on the tears and they’d fall.
I didn’t want to think too hard on the reason simply hugging him had brought me such comfort and peace, so much so I couldn’t stand there doing it without a crush of emotion flooding in. Allowing the full gravity of the moment to set in—the sense of rightness, or tenderness, or intimacy—couldn’t happen. So I set to work, and seconds later, with no complaint or question, he joined me.
