Page 90 of Strictly the Worst

She nods, still looking sheepish. “I’d hug you but…”

I look down at my soaked body. “Yeah, best to avoid that. What time will you be home?”

“About eight? Maisie’s mom is taking us for dinner after the movie.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then. Keep an eye on your phone for updates.”

She grins at me and then leaves, slamming the front door closed behind her. I take a deep breath and start to shiver.

Damn, it’s cold in here.

“You better go change,” Linc says. “Before I get distracted by your nipples.”

I look down, and sure enough, they’re pushing against my wet t-shirt. And then I look back up at him.

“What about you? You should go home. Get changed. Before you catch a chill.”

“And leave you to have all the fun sanding? No way.” He winks. “Don’t you have some clothes I can borrow?”

“I’m half your size,” I say. But he follows me to the bedroom anyway. I open the door and step inside, frowning because now he’s going to know I sleep on a mattress on the floor.

He’s standing in the doorway when I look over at him, staring at my bed. It’s impossible not to feel embarrassed.

“It’s a work in progress,” I tell him. “Not exactly five star.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” his voice is so soft it sends a shiver down my spine.

Grabbing two towels from a drawer, I throw one over at him. He catches it easily, using it to wipe his face and hair.

“What were you thinking then? I ask, pressing the towel against my face. When I pull it away he’s peeling off his wet t-shirt. I swallow hard as the hem rises, revealing the hard ridges of his stomach, the defined planes of his pectorals.

My nipples press harder against my t-shirt. Linc pulls the wet fabric over his head and then looks at me, his hair askew.

Our eyes lock.

Without saying a word, he walks over to me, taking the towel from my hands and rubbing it in my hair. He uses just the right amount of pressure, enough to soak up the water dripping from it.

“Take your top off,” he tells me.

Alarmed, I catch his eye.

“Just so I can dry you off.”

I nod and do as I’m told, peeling the wet t-shirt from my body and throwing it on the floor. Linc’s gaze takes me in, his eyes dipping to my wet bra and my pebbled nipples.

He wraps the towel around me, drying my torso. Then his hands wrap around my back and unfasten my bra.

It doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t even feel particularly sexual. It just feels like I’m being taken care of.

I can’t remember the last time that happened.

Linc drops to his knees. “Jeans next.” He’s close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath on my stomach. I nod and unfasten the buttons with shaky fingers, even though they’re barely wet. And then he takes over, peeling the denim from my legs.

“Step out,” he murmurs and I do.

“The socks can go too, Carmichael.”

I hold my feet up for him to take each one off.

---