Page 59 of Ruling Scar
“No.”
Cleanliness is important and I don’t want to be awkward. I firmly shut the bedroom door, locking it, and then for good measure I lock the ensuite bathroom door.
There’s a day’s worth of city grime on me and the water pressure is lovely. The body wash smells like cedarwood and I’m pleased there’s shampoo and conditioner instead of a two-in-one combo.
The water’s nearly boiling, but I stand under the stream, trying to sort through my feelings.
There’s a bit of nerves, yes, but so far everything’s okay. Needless to say, the whole sleepovers with guys thing, has alluded me my whole life. And I don’t doubt Elijah plans on sharing the bedroom.
He hasn’t made a move or mentioned the kiss on Monday. He’s not the type to forget about anything, but I don’t think he gets stuck in his head like I do.
I’ve revisited that moment constantly.
I don’t think I’d mind kissing him again, dangerous as it is.
Before the water goes cold, I turn it off, finding a plush towel hanging outside the tub. His bathroom is clean, the tile a mix of white and green, and there are two sinks along the vanity.
A new toothbrush sits beside one and I’m offended he thought I’d forget to bring one along.
Steam follows me into the bedroom where my bag sits on the green chair. I spent a lot of time debating about what items I wanted to bring. Mainly, what I planned on wearing to bed.
I dig through the backpack, my mind glitching. I run through it three more times, retracing every moment of when I packed it.
I know I packed pajamas. Just like I know I packed underwear.
“Elijah,” I curse under my breath. Wrapping the towel tight across my chest, I fling open the door and find him enraptured by the game.
“Elijah!”
He barely tilts his head back, indicating he’s listening.
“What did you do with my clothes?”
“What?” Someone makes a free throw and the crowd cheers.
“My clothes, Elijah. The door was locked, how did you get in?”
He leans forward, watching the Knicks.
An unflattering noise catches in my throat, my hands balling into fists. It’s a first-rate temper tantrum but entirely useless.
But it catches his attention, causing him to finally turn around. He freezes before a smirk forms and one brow lifts. I clutch the towel tighter.
“Where are my pajamas?”
“This is a pajama free household.”
“No, it is not.” I fume. “Now give me my underwear you pervert!”
“I can’t. It’s also an underwear free household.”
I stomp my foot, stepping back into the bedroom.
“Did you see the toothbrush I laid out for you?”
I slam the door shut.
CHAPTER 14
