Page 11 of Snowed In with the Wrong Cowboy
I scream, jerking upright and sinking deeper into the water at the same time, arms crossing over my chest even though the bubbles are… oh God, there are not enough bubbles.
Callum stands in the doorway, shirtless and wearing grey sweatpants that should be illegal. Looking completely unbothered by the fact that I'm naked in the bathtub.
“What the HELL are you doing?!” My voice comes out about three octaves higher than normal.
“Brushing my teeth.” He walks to the sink like this is completely normal. “What does it look like?”
He actually reaches for his toothbrush.
“Get out!”
“It's my bathroom.” He squeezes toothpaste onto the brush with infuriating calm.
“I'm in the bath!”
“I can see that.” He glances at me in the mirror, and that smirk, that goddamn smirk, curves his mouth. “Nice bubbles.”
“Callum, I swear to God.”
“Relax, darlin'. It's nothing I haven't seen before.” He starts brushing his teeth while I'm sitting here naked and mortified.
“You haven't seen ME before!”
He rinses and spits, still holding my gaze in the mirror. “True. But I've got a pretty good imagination.”
Heat floods my face. “You are unbelievable.”
“So I've been told.”
I grab the washcloth and throw it at him. It hits him square in the back with a wet smack.
“Get. Out.”
“Or what?” He leans against the counter, arms crossing over his bare chest. “You gonna chase me out? You're a little... exposed for that.”
My entire body is on fire now. “You're an asshole.”
“Also… so I've been told.” He settles in like he's planning to stay. “How's the water?”
“It was perfect until you ruined it!”
“I'm just standing here.”
“You're staring!”
“Hard not to.” His gaze drags over what he can see above the water.
That's it. I've had enough.
I reach for the towel without standing, trying to stay low in the water, keeping everything important submerged. My fingers brush the edge of the fabric on the nearby rack. I manage to grab the towel, but when I pull, it slips… and dunks straight into the tub with a wet plop.
Shit.
I hiss through my teeth, dragging the dripping towel into my lap, trying to cover myself while also maneuvering out of the tub in one smooth motion. It isnotsmooth.
Water sloshes everywhere. The towel clings to me, soaked and useless. I try to stand, keeping my arms clutched around the sopping fabric, doing my best not to flash Callum, who isabsolutelystill standing there, watching every second of this disaster unfold.
The playful smirk he usually wears is gone. His gaze is fixed.
