Page 32 of Absolutely Not in Love
My shower is bigger and nicer, so I cut through the kitchen instead of the living room and take her into my room. Nerves make my stomach clench, but this doesn’t have to be a big deal. My bedroom is clean, my bed made. There’s no reason to be nervous. Still, having Gracie in such a private space feels like an enormous deal.
I pull a couple of clean towels out from under the cabinet and set them on the counter.
“There’s soap, shampoo, conditioner. Just help yourself to whatever you need,” I say.
She nods and steps past me into the room. “So, um, should I be worried about the pipes inyourapartment?”
I grimace. After what she’s been through, it’s a valid question. “Since this wasn’t living spacebefore I remodeled,” I say, “all the plumbing, except the main line that runs directly into the apartment, is all new.”
“Huh.” She nods and smiles, her tone teasing. “How convenient thatyou’rethe one who got the new pipes.”
I groan, happy, at least, that she’s willing to joke about her completely demolished apartment. “The old pipes were the result of bad advice from a plumber and a dwindling renovation budget. Trust me, I’m not proud of my decision. Especially now.”
“What is it people say? Hindsight is always twenty-twenty?” She tugs my hoodie a little tighter and wraps her arms around herself.
“I appreciate you being so gracious about it.” I move to my bedroom door. “Is there anything else you need? I’ll grab something for you to wear and leave it on the bed.”
“If you don’t mind going back to my apartment, there’s a laundry basket on top of my washing machine. Pretty sure it’s only towels and my hot yoga clothes, but I’m crossing my fingers there’s also a pair of underwear.”
I raise my eyebrows, my hand lifting to my beard. “Do you want me to…look for you?”
She rears back, suddenly looking mildly panicked. “For my underwear? Absolutely not. I mean, not that it would be a big deal. Everyone wears underwear. But who knows what state this particular pair might be in?”
She’s rambling, her cheeks growing pinker by the second, and it’s possibly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Honestly, I’d like a little more control of the situation the first time a man sees my underwear,” she goes on. Then she winces, and the light flush climbing her cheeks turns a fiery red. “Not that I’m suggestingyouwill see my underwear. Or that you even want to. Or…” She closes her eyes, lifting one hand to her brow. “You know what? Never mind. Maybe just grab the whole basket for me?”
It’s only fair she has an embarrassing moment after I bumbled my way through accidentally suggesting we shower together, but I can be a gentleman and let her recover in solitude.
It’ll do me some good because standing here talking about Gracie’s underwear isnothelping my present state of mind.
“Got it. I’ll make sure it’s here before you’re out,” I say. “Take your time though. Seriously. No rush.”
Relief fills her expression as she steps backward into the bathroom. Before she shuts the door, she shrugs out of my hoodie and holds it out to me.
My eyes drop, noticing for the second time the way her clothes are clinging to her like a second skin. I force my gaze upward to the ceiling above Gracie’s head. Her tank top is a pale shade of blue, and damp like it is, it’s leavingvery littleto the imagination.
My fingers graze against hers as I take the hoodie, and I let my eyes drop to her face.
“Seriously, thank you,” she says. “Pretty sure this is going above and beyond when it comes to your duties as landlord.”
I hold her gaze. “I’m not doing this because it’s my duty, Gracie.”
Something flashes in her eyes that makes my heart dip and swoop, then she disappears into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.
I blow out a steadying breath, then move to my dresser where I riffle through my drawers, trying to find something,anythingthat won’t swallow Gracie whole.
I finally settle on a Loyola University T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants she’ll hopefully be able to cinch up at the waist to fit her. I grab an Appies hoodie, then toss it back in favor of a navy blue one with a logo for the Art Institute of Chicago instead. That seems like a much safer choice when it comes to Gracie.
I drop the clothes on the bed, then head across the hall and grab the laundry basket Gracie mentioned. I don’t touch anything inside it—no way I want Gracie thinking I went pawing through her laundry after the conversation we just had—and leave it next to the other clothes I picked out for her.
The water is running inside the bathroom, and I try not to think about Gracie on the other side of that door,in my shower.Or about the fact that the next time I see her, she’ll be wearing my clothes.
It’s the sexiest thought I’ve had all day, but it doesn’t last long.
Because now I have to finally do what Mom has been telling me to do for weeks.
I have to call my dad.
