Page 24 of Infinite

Since I haven’t seen enough of his muscles today, he gives me yet another show. An eight-pack of abs stretch and protrude as he bends forward to tug off his shoes and socks and, because that’s still not enough, his arms bulge from the effort.

He makes quick work of disrobing.

He looks good.

Really good.

Why does he have to look so good?

No offense, God, but couldn’t You have made him bald? Maybe had tufts of hair growing out of his ears? What about love handles? I could use some love handles on this man right about now.

In one slick motion, Hale rips off his pants and flings them onto the bed. I jump as if stung. “What are you doing?”

Hale tilts his chin, as if realizing I’m standing here and that, yes, that is my jaw scraping along the floor.

The floor of his bedroom.

Watching him get naked.

Seriously. Why does he have to look this good?

He frowns, affronted. But as his features relax, his mood changes.

Slowly, oh-so slowly, he slides his palm down his chest, over the center of his pecks and further down to his belly, his fingers skimming the small hairs below his navel, and lower yet. His voice is gruff, his words as tangible as rough stone dragging across my skin. It’s similar to how he first addressed me, except, instead of anger, there’s something else. A very naughty something else.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Doesn’t this look familiar?”

I’m gifted with spinning lies into gold bricks heavy enough to stone him to death. You’d never know it then. “You mean like when we were lifeguards and you wore swim trunks?” I want to kick myself and send me back to preschool.Thisis the best I can come up with? “Sure. I suppose.”

“No,” he replies in that same gravelly voice, sin dripping like droplets of rain from his tongue. “You’ve seen me in less. A lot less.”

And felt even more, he implies.

Muscle memory. I believe that’s what it’s called. When your body remembers what to do by acting and feeling, ingraining the motion with the moment and searing the experience into your thoughts. I only intimately touched Hale once. It doesn’t matter. It was long enough to brand it into my thoughts and get me through those lonely nights. His hardness, his long rigid length, and the silky skin filled my hands. I remember. I only wish I could forget.

My skin prickles heat. I’m blushing. I know I am. But I’m not alone. Hale watches me closely, his jaw tightening.

Hale’s face is a deep shade of red. But he isn’t embarrassed. No. He’s something more.

“What are you doing here, Becca?” he asks. “What do you want?”

You, I almost say.I want you back. I want us back. I don’t want you to keep hating me.

My thoughts war with each other, scrambling the words that race through my head. Hale, Mason, Sean, Trin, and I. We were so close. Inseparable. Until my friendship with Hale became something more and ended up hurting us all.

“I want to help you,” I manage.

“I think your fiancé might have a problem with that.” He peels off his underwear and marches away.

He’s trying to hurt and embarrass me and he manages both just fine. I wrench away in the direction of the living room. I don’t get far, barely making it to the door leading out of the suite. Without any trace of remorse, I glance over my shoulder, watching his rock-hard cheeks clench and unclench as he walks toward the bathroom.

What am I going to do? I can’t leave now. That ass is practically begging me to take a swat.

“I’m not engaged.”

Hale freezes.

“It’s over,” I say, tripping over the words to the point that I almost spill the truth.

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