Page 14 of One Short Summer

Before I can think about it anymore, I turn on my heel and walk across the room. “Of course. I think it’ll be a good place for you, and I’m glad you’re here.” The last words come out in a whisper, and I don’t know why I said them at all. I don’t look back up when I grab the handle as fast as I can, mumbling more words under my breath. “I’ll be downstairs ordering us some food.”

Thud. I close the door too fast, the sound of the bang echoing through the hallway as I release a pent-up breath. I’m just about to grab my suitcase to bring into my own bedroom when I realize we didn’t decide what kind of takeout we’re going to get.

In a trance, I turn around, walk the two steps back to the door, and open it again.

Big fat mistake.

Well, I guess it depends on how you look at it.

I stare straight at Monica, who’s still rooted in the same spot I just left her in mere seconds ago. The only difference is that Monica’s shirt is now gone, and she was about to push her leggings down, if the hands at her waistband are any indication.

Her exposed skin is creamy and looks so inviting to touch, I’m unable to focus on anything else. My hands turn into fists at my sides, keeping me from doing something stupid, like go to her and do a very thorough hands-on examination. Instead, I cast my glance downward. Seeing her in only her leggings and bra is more action than I’ve seen in a while, and I’m not surprised my body is starting to get excited.

It takes me a moment to find the strength to stop my body from physically reacting to her, at least in a way she’d be able to see.

“I’m so sorry, Monica. I didn’t mean to just walk in on you like that. I forgot to ask what kind of takeout you want.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth and turns into full-on laughter in two seconds flat.

I glance at her for a second, wondering what’s so funny.

“You can look at me, Gabe. It’s just a bra. You see the same amount of skin in a bikini, you know?”

She has a point, but who’s to say my reaction wouldn’t be the same then too?

Looking back at her, I try my hardest to keep my eyes on her face.

No, scratch that. Too risky, and way too close to her gorgeous breasts that are tucked in a dark blue lace bra. Because they are definitely calling my name.

Staring over the head it is. Yes, much better. “I should have knocked, regardless.”

“No worries. And about dinner, just get whatever you want. You know what I like.”

Somehow the last words make me groan inwardly, even though she most likely meant them in a completely harmless way.

What if I didn’t imagine the change in her voice after all though? To me, that last line came across sexier than the rest, almost like the old, flirty Monica is back.

And wouldn’t that be interesting?

When we first met, I thought there was something between the two of us, and I’m pretty sure the attraction wasn’t one-sided either. But it’s not like I could’ve made a move when she had a broken leg and was miserable, and then, when her recovery didn’t go as planned, the flirting stopped too, as her spirits slowly left her. The last thing she needed was my flirting when she so obviously just wanted to be alone. So, I gave her the space she wanted, and over time, we settled down in our roles.

First, we had somewhat of a nurse and patient situation going on, even when she pretended she didn’t need any help, which actually sounds straight out of one of the romance novels my sisters always liked to rub in my face—and started reading to me when I couldn’t get away fast enough.

When Monica moved into the house with me, we turned into roommates, both of us living our separate lives alongside each other.

But we also became friends over time, maybe even best friends.

I mean, I do spend a lot of time with her, even when we just watch TV together, and she’s usually the first person I turn to when I have something going on in my life.

In return, I know her pretty well. All her little quirks and habits, down to what underwear she wears, since she hates doing laundry and keeps forgetting to take her stuff out of the dryer.

No more thinking about underwear now.

That thought process never ends well, especially when it’s about Monica’s.

Of course, I can’t stop thinking about Monica in her half-undressed state for the rest of the day.

Figures.

---