Page 26 of Stranded

Whoa, there.

Now I’m awake… and hard as hell. Maybe I’ll sneak downstairs to my own apartment. I need a long, hot shower somewhere I won’t be disturbed…

“Dude, I thought you were dead!” A voice echoes in the hallway. “Ever heard of checking your damn phone?”

“Oh, shit.”

That’s not Ronan. It’s Carter, and his voice is getting louder, like he’s stomping toward the bedroom to ream me out… or the bathroom.

My best friend and I used to be in gym class together. He wouldn’t think anything of sticking his head in the bathroom to trade friendly insults. Meaning he’s about to scare the ever-loving shit out of my…

I don’t know what to call Ronan, but that’s not the priority right now.

“Shit, shit, shit…!”

I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Almost before I tumble out of bed, I’m grabbing my bathrobe and shoving it on, tying it closed, reaching for the doorknob?—

I burst out into the hall, skidding to a halt on the gleaming hardwood floor.

“Carter! Hold up!”

“Huh?” Carter lets go of the bathroom doorknob just as the shower water turns off. His confused squint turns to the bathroom door, and back to me. “Huh?!”

My friends have never known me to bring someone home like this. Or like he’s assuming I have, anyway. The exact details are kind of irrelevant. It’s easy to tell what conclusions he’s about to jump to. “I don’t—I’ll explain, just?—”

Ronan’s voice echoes in the bathroom. “What—in fuck’s name—is going on out there?”

He punctuates the question by yanking the door open. Steam billows out, and there he is, standing in the doorway.

I freeze like a deer in the headlights.

However hard I try to fix my eyes on his face, I can’t help following the trickle of water droplets from his soaked hair, down his smooth chest, straight to the towel wrapped around his waist.

Nope. Not looking. Not looking. Stop looking. Seriously.

Ronan’s staring at me, too. His brows are furrowed, his cheeks flushed as he slowly looks me from top to bottom. All I can do is pray that my bathrobe is thick enough to do the job.

Thick enough to… oh, my god. He really has rubbed off on me.

Carter’s the first one to come to his wits. “Shit. Oh, shit. G-Guys,” he stumbles over himself, glancing at Ronan quickly again, “I’m sorry. Uh… I didn’t know you had?—”

“I picked him up last night?—”

“Phrasing,” Ronan murmurs under his breath. I can’t tell if his voice is strained with amusement or annoyance.

I blush all the harder and slap my hand on my forehead. “Fuck.” I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole, but I’ve fixed and polished it up too carefully.

Carter strides down the hallway like he’s been stung by a wasp. “Dude, it’s so cool. We’ll talk later,” he says, waving overhis shoulder at Ronan. “Uh… sorry again… good to meet you… bye!”

I cast Ronan my most apologetic stare, but he doesn’t seem mad. Nor is he in a hurry to preserve his modesty. He just smirks and folds his arms, leaning in the doorway. “Don’t let me get in the way.”

If I keep looking at Ronan, this situation will get even more awkward, real fast. But I can’t shake the overwhelming desire to stare at the expanse of bare skin. My belly is prickling with heat, and I’m getting a little lightheaded…

I rush after Carter just as he reaches the stairs. “Hold on, man. It’s fine. It’s just a long story. Look, meet me downstairs in a minute, yeah?”

Carter pauses and peers over his shoulder with surprise, one hand on the top banister. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll make coffee—” I cut myself off with a groan.

---