Page 48 of Always a Roommate
“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “Pleased with Cane.” If I had to be a wet dog mess, at least he did too. “Come on, dog.” I reached out and grabbed the scruff of his neck to urge him toward the tub. “Let’s get cleaned off.” I really just wanted to go put on dry clothes, fix my hair, and make sure I didn’t look as awful as I imagined I did.
The dog didn’t move.
With a grunt, Shane bent down, lifting Cane into his arms and placing him more gently than I expected into the half-full tub. He reached for the shower head and handed it down to me.
Together, we got Cane rinsed and dried as best we could before he ran out into the living room, still damp and smelling like a wet dog. It wasn’t altogether pleasant, but I figured I probably smelled just as bad.
I had no desire to clean the bathroom right now, so that would wait. I followed Shane out into the living room, where the dog proceeded to get our couch wet.
A sigh escaped me, and Shane looked sideways at me.
“What?” he asked.
“When I was younger, the thought of you seeing me like this would have been mortifying.”
“Like what?”
I laughed. When I agreed to let him move in, I should have known I couldn’t keep him from seeing the real me for long. I gestured to the wet shirt clinging to my less-than-flat stomach before fingering my limp, damp strands of auburn hair that took lots of effort every morning to keep the frizz away from.
Not to mention the mascara I was sure had collected in dark circles under my eyes.
Shane didn’t look like he understood, but I shouldn’t have expected him to.
“I’m not exactly…” I walked toward the kitchen as my voice trailed off.
Shane followed me close at my heels. “Exactly what?”
I may have imagined it, but I thought I heard anger in his voice. Stopping in front of the fridge, I turned. “Put together.”
His eyes roamed my face, and I wanted to know what he saw, to know why he’d kissed me and why he hadn’t done it again.
Shane’s brows drew together. I’d never known anyone with such expressive brows. They were the only part of him that ever gave a peek into what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
“Forget about it.” I tried to turn and open the fridge. Not because I was hungry. It was mostly a distraction. Shane’s hand planted near my head, stopping me.
“No.”
I rotated back around. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t…” A tortured-sounding groan wound through him. “You’re beautiful, Rae.”
My eyes rounded, but I didn’t make a sound.
“Getting lashed by a hurricane, sitting in a ridiculous wetsuit, being completely wrecked by a dog… you’re beautiful.”
The breath stuttered in my throat, and tears came to my eyes unbidden. I tried to will them away, managing only to keep them from falling. “Shane.”
He put his free hand on the other side of my head, caging me in against the refrigerator.
“I look ridiculous.”
He shook his head. “You look real, Rae.” His voice softened. “I can’t… I need…” He closed his eyes, as if trying to control himself.
I took the opportunity to do what I’d spent so much of my life dreaming of doing. I lifted a hand to his cheek, tracing the contours of his face from the sharp angles of his cheekbone to the softening at his jaw.
My thumb skimmed down to his neck, where the steady beat of his heart pulsed against it.
