Page 44 of Treat

Across the room the bedroom door opened and turning, she almost choked on lemon blueberry water. Jude walked out of his bedroom, still tugging his shirt over his head, so she had about two seconds of admiring time before he had the shirt completely on and noticed her staring. It wasn’t nearly enough—she barely got a glimpse of muscled chest and rippled belly and that deep V of muscle that dipped tantalizingly into the waistband of his shorts—but it was enough to start her thighs sweating, and give her one more reason to be grateful for moisture-wicking, anti-chafing shorts.

Then the shirt was on and he was holding his hands out and saying, “Well?” and for a second she had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he spun in a circle, and she realized he was asking for approval on his clothes.

“Very nice,” she managed and gulped lemon blueberry.

“Yeah?” He completed his spin and looked down. “I wasn’t sure about the shorts. Is white a bad choice?”

She tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. “Only if you spill nachos on them.”

“Maybe I should change.”

“You’re fine,” she assured him. “Except…”

He looked up. “What?”

“The red shirt.”

“You said team gear.”

“I know, but the Tigers are playing the Red Sox today.”

“So?”

“So, it might look like you’re wearing their colors,” she explained. “Not a good look.”

“The Cougars team colors are red and white,” he reminded her.

She pursed her lips, considering. “Maybe if you had a black shirt with the logo on it.”

“It’s going to be ninety today, and you want me to wear black?”

“Good point.” She tapped a finger on her lips. “Do you have dark shorts and a white shirt?”

He dragged a hand through his hair and spun for the bedroom. “Shit.”

Not bothering to hide the grin, Brynn dug her phone out of her pocket. She’d bought a leather wallet case for it—another splurge—and had transferred her debit card, driver’s license, and some just-in-case cash to it earlier. She was wondering if she needed more when Jude stomped back out.

“This is the best I can do,” he said, hands on his hips and a mulish look on his face, and just to be contrary she took her time looking him over.

He’d swapped the white shorts for a pair in graphite gray and the red shirt for a white one with the Cougars logo embroidered in red over his left pec. The shirt was collarless, like a short-sleeved Henley but without the buttons, and made out of a soft knit that clung to his body like…well, like she wanted to. The shorts were casual but smart, showing off the fact that he never skipped leg day without being toolook at my muscular thighs!Which was too bad for her but perfect for a public appearance.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I like it,” she declared.

“Thank God,” he muttered and collapsed in the chair so hard his hair flopped.

“Your hair’s getting long,” she observed.

“I know.” He scraped a hand through the blond mop of it. “I need a cut, but I keep forgetting about it.”

She flipped open her phone case, grateful for something to do. “I’ll make an appointment. You want morning or afternoon?”

“Afternoon, I guess. As soon as possible. And would you see if they can deal with the mustache, too?”

“You want a shave?” she asked, her heart breaking a little at the idea.

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