Page 144 of Reverse

“Fine.” Sighing, I walk over to my duffle and put the phone down next to it, giving Easton a view of the ceiling. “But I’m not sure you can handle this three-alarm fire I’m about to start.”

“Oh, I can handle it.”

“Yeah? Think so, big boy?” I tease, tucking the last of my hair in before I rapidly start to undress and redress.

“Hit me, Beauty.”

Once dressed, I whip myself into view, my hat and quilted snap button robe aging me about thirty years as unguarded laughter bursts out of Easton.

“Seriously? Babe, what the fuck?”

“The house is drafty at times,” I assert.

“So, you decided to make your grandmother’s robe a staple?”

“It’s comfortable,” I contend.

“God,” he muses. “I fucking miss you.”

“That’s a mutual feeling, Mr. Rock God.”

Mid eye-roll, he lifts from his bed. “So, what’s next, a gooey green face mask?”

“It’s gold, and it’s not gooey, but I’m not subjecting myself to any more of your shit. Self-care for women is already a pain in the ass without adding your testosterone into the mix. Besides, it’s your turn. Let’s seeyourpajamas.”

He disappears from the camera, making me dizzy with the rapid change of hotel scenery before I’m knocked stupid by the sight of him walking into the bathroom, his reflection showing nothing but tan, rippling muscles, and perfectly filled black boxer briefs.

Well, that backfired.

“Oh, screw you, Crowne,” I shake my head, soaking in every inch of his mouthwatering physique.

“No? Don’t like ’em?” Teasingly, he lowers his phone.

“I did not say that I don’t like your choice of sleepwear, but I’ll need another peek to make a well-informed decision.”

Grinning, he props his phone against the bathroom sink before lining his toothbrush with paste as I prop my own phone. We wordlessly brush our teeth, the buzz of a brush motor sounding on his end. It’s when our foaming mouths overflow—showcasing our twin smiles—that I decide to take a quick screenshot.

He rolls his eyes when he sees the notification on his end and rinses while I speak up. “You have your idea of screenshot worthy. I have mine,” I defend. Exiting the bathroom, I prop my phone on the nightstand and grip the first snap button on my robe as he slips into his hotel bed and holds his phone up, so his face fills the screen. Seeing me hesitate, fingers paused on the top button at my neck, he quirks a dark brow. “You got something going on under there?”

“Nothing special,” I squeak.

“I’ll be the judge.”

“Okay, but no screenshots.”

“Everything under that robe is for my fucking eyes only,” he proclaims adamantly before grinning. “I’m also the only one who gets to know how truly filthy you really are.”

“I am not,” I feign offense.

“‘Harder, Easton. Harder!’ Who the hell do you think you’re fooling? Well . . . my dirty girl, on with it.”

“You realize you’ve been ordering me around a lot today, right?”

“Sorry, I would just really love to see if there’s a girdle under there.”

“Just for that, show’s over.”

“Baby, please,” he murmurs before giving me Puss in Boots eyes. “I’ll play nice.”

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