Page 3 of Bad Crush
Fresh out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, he’s straight out of every woman’s fantasy. At six-foot-three, two hundred and fifteen pounds (yes, I’ve memorized his height and weight from the hockey roster because, hello, mad crush over here), every delicious inch of him is chiseled. Jaw, chest, abs, and—I’m only guessing on this one—ass.
Water drips from his dark blond hair. My gaze follows a slow trickle that dips between the valley of his pecs, down his six-pack, and then is absorbed into the white terrycloth that hangs just below his waist. Cockblocked. Me and you both little water droplet. What I wouldn’t give to be a bead of water on his—
“Reagan? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” My voice is tight and squeaky. Sweat beads on my forehead and between my boobs. Not the glowy sweat I was imagining happening in this room either.
One side of his mouth pulls up. His smile is my undoing every time. He doesn’t do it often. Not that he isn’t a happy guy, but Adam is serious and controlled. Even when he’s having a good time, his smiles and laughs are few.
Growing up like I did, his determination and the values he lives by speak to me in a way that I can’t describe. It’s as sexy as those rare smiles.
“What were you doing under my bed?” Hazel eyes narrow, taking in the scene.
“Oh, I…” My fist closes around the paper. “I was looking for my scrunchie. I let Ginny borrow it. I thought it might be in here.”
“A scrunchie?”
“Like a hair tie. For my hair,” I add dumbly and then comb my fingers through the tangly locks.
“Like the one on your wrist.” He points.
Right, because why would I be looking for a scrunchie when I have one? Hiding my arm behind my back, I smile. “It’s my good luck scrunchie. It’s black and has little gold stars on it.”
“I haven’t seen it, but I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks. That’d be great.”
We’re in an awkward stare-off.
“Anything else?” His hands go to his waist. He’s literally waiting for me to leave so he can get naked.
Move your feet! Flee! Go! Don’t say another word!
Unfortunately, my brain works in slow motion when Adam is nearby. Obviously, he’s gorgeous, but it isn’t his looks that make me dumb. It’s just him. My crush is out of control. I’ve built him up so much over the years; no one can compare. Not even him. That’s partly why I haven’t told him. The other reason is far too self-deprecating to admit, even to myself.
“Nope. All good,” I say finally. I lift a hand and salute him. A salute? Seriously?
“You’ve got a little…” He stops speaking and steps forward. His hand grazes my cheek. With a thumb, he strokes my skin. I melt into his touch. My eyes flutter closed. Sweet, sweet nirvana.
“What is this? Glitter?” he asks.
“Hmmm?”
His hand falls away, and I open my eyes to his finger in front of my face with a dot of gold. He’s so close I could lick the water droplets off his neck. I refrain.
“Oh, yeah. I was crafting last night.”
“Crafting, huh? Well, whatever you did, it must have been fun. Ginny was a mess this morning. Hungover as shit.” Adam moves past me and digs in his dresser. He pulls out jeans and a gray T-shirt, then socks and black boxer briefs.
Right. A mess. Like me. I’m suddenly acutely aware that I haven’t washed my face or brushed my teeth yet this morning. My standard sleep attire is shorts and a T-shirt, so I’m not exactly undressed, but I sure feel naked and unworthy standing here.
I’m still gawking too, which is about to get uncomfortable as he reaches for his towel again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”
“I’m good. All good.” My voice lowers like I’m some sort of suave dude. I wave him off, and the red heart falls from my hand and tumbles like a weed toward his feet.
He picks it up and looks over the red square. “Some of your crafting? What is it?”
He starts to unfold it, but I snatch it from his hands. “It was a rough concept of an idea that didn’t really work out.”
