Page 30 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Water bursts from the ceiling in the bathroom with violent enthusiasm.The sound is immediate and overwhelming, like someone dumped a bathtub from the attic.Cold droplets hit my face, my neck.A frigid warning shot.
“Seriously?”I yell.“Is this building cursed?”
I rush toward the bathroom just as water starts pouring into the hallway.My socks are soaked instantly, my hoodie is drenched within seconds.Cold.Icy.Winter pipe cold.It takes my breath away, shock radiating up from my feet.
“Where’s the valve?”Adam yells, slipping in behind me.His shoulder brushes mine as we both lunge for the sink.
“I don’t know!I’m a nurse, not a plumber!”Water sprays across my face, into my eyes.I blink it away, tasting rust and minerals.
We both dive under the sink.
Our arms bump.Then our shoulders.Then everything.
My breath catches.His is warm against my cheek, a stark contrast to the icy water soaking us both.We’re crouched in freezing water, way too close, struggling with a rusted pipe like it’s trying to make us confess our feelings.His body radiates heat even through his wet clothes.
He twists something.I brace the edge.Our hands tangle, slip, find purchase.His knuckles scrape against mine.
And the water stops.
But the room is already soaked.So are we.
I’m dripping.Every inch of fabric clings to me, cold and heavy.
He stands, pushing his wet hair out of his face.Water tracks down his neck, disappears beneath his collar.
His hoodie clings to him like self-stick bandage wrap, outlining every muscle I’ve been trying not to think about.And mine… Well, mine’s a mess.Soaked and freezing, plastered to my skin like a second layer.
I peel it off fast, without thinking.“I need to get this off—” The words die in my throat as I register his expression.
Too late.
My T-shirt is white.And it’s wet.And it’s hiding exactly nothing.
I realize this exactly as his hoodie hits the ground and he steps out of it.
No shirt underneath.
“Why, why would you not wear a shirt under that?”I demand, voice high.But my eyes betray me, falling to his chest, to the definition I felt against me earlier but couldn’t see.
“I was finishing packing when you texted.I was hot.No shirt.Just grabbed a hoodie!”he says, definitely trying not to look at me and definitely failing.“It’s implied insulation!”
I try to cross my arms.Realize that just highlights everything.Drop them awkwardly to my sides.My skin pebbles with goosebumps from the cold or his gaze, I’m not sure.
And he’s just… there.Bare-chested.Gray sweatpants.Wet.Dripping.Looking very much like a mistake I want to make or the only right thing I never did.His eyes darken as they track over me, leaving heat in their wake.
I fumble back toward the bed.“I need dry clothes—”
I fling my emergency tote open.Too hard.
Something falls out.
Something pink.
Something buzzing.
“Oh my God—” Horror floods through me, hot and immediate.
The vibrator.Adam Pro.Betrayed by my own electronic backup plan.
