Page 37 of Sassy Love
The jeans and T-shirt she’s wearing are sweaty from the warm midday sun. For the first time, she forces a smile as she walks past me toward the bathroom. After collecting a few things from her bag, she disappears behind the faux wall. “Stay out there, Rawlins. I’m taking a shower.”
I chuckle.
“Yes, ma’am,” I call back.
A breathy huff escapes the bathroom space before water turns on.
The image of her stripping out of those jeans mere feet from where I sit winds its treacherous way through my ridiculous mind. Blood sinks south before I can wrangle my thoughts.
Fuck me.
I retrain my focus to the spreadsheet on the screen. I try three times before giving up when the shower turns off. I slam the laptop shut, shoving my head into my hands.
“Shit,” a small whisper comes from behind the wall.
It’s then I realize the towels are still on the bed, twisted into the heart shape.
Lamont would be needing one right about now. I rise and grab up a towel, padding for the wall. I lean on it, looking away from the bathroom. “Cold yet?”
“Just throw me a towel.”
I chuckle. “Manners, Princess.”
“The fuck,” she mutters.
“I guess you could drip dry. You’ll miss lunch, though. Guessing all that long hair takes a while to dry. Manuel will be upset. You could blow-dry yourself.” The second the sentence leaves my stupid mouth, I groan into the drywall. The wordsblowandLamontshouldn’t be in my mind, let alone escaping my damn mouth.
“Towel, Rawlins, before I make this uncomfortable for both of us.”
She would, too.
And I’m momentarily tempted to let her come out here and take the piece of linen from my hands.
She has the spine and the confidence to pull something like that off.
Now that last phrase took me from semi-hard to concrete.
Sweet Jesus.
A hand appears around the wall, grabbing for the towel. Relenting, I shove it into her hand. My fingers brush over hers as she snags it and disappears, replaced by a breathy word. “Child.”
My chuckle turns to a stifled groan as the ghost of her touch sends electricity over my skin, radiating out.
Who would have thought Satan’s Little Helper could have that effect on me.
Lord above, it’s going to be a long week.
Manuel is right on time to collect us for lunch, which we inhale in silence before he shows us to a patch of lawn for our meditation. With his clipboard in hand, he waits as we sit on the grass, leaving at least three feet between us.
“No, no.” He’s waving his hands, signaling for us to shuffle closer. “It is better if I don’t have to keep alternating between you both.”
Lamont doesn’t budge, simply lifting her sunglasses into her messy updo. Probably so she can more effectively incinerate Manuel with a single glare.
I shift closer until a measly six inches of grass is all that’s left between us, earning a short-lived glower from those brown eyes. With her hair up that way, a few strands have already escaped. Her tank top has slipped off one shoulder, and the workout pants she wears make it just past her knees as she sits cross-legged with her sneaker-clad feet tucked under her.
“Better!” Manuel smiles. “Let’s start. Close your eyes, please.”
I shut my eyes. Instantly, every other sense is more intense. The ground beneath me, the wind that tosses my messy hair, the air that fills and stretches my lungs. I relax into nothingness.
