Page 28 of Only in Your Dreams

That would be because I’m wearing a fitted white tank top. No bra. Enthusiastic nipples.

Great.

At least it wiped that stupid cocky look off his face.

I fist the sleeping bag underneath me. Unable to tear my own eyes away from him, the profile of his face as he focuses on the tent wall, the long breath he inhales. The way his brows twitch when he notices I haven’t made a move to cover myself.

What’s the point? It’s only about to get worse.

Zac clears his throat. “Ready?”

I nod.

“Keep your ankle steady.”

He curls his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and I plant my hands behind me, lifting my hips off the mattress just enough to let him tug them down my ass. Determined to keep his eyes off my body—or else to make this situation as horrific as possible—Zac keeps his gaze on my face. Creamy brown eyes piercing mine as he peels my pants down my legs.

“The eye contact is making this worse,” I say, and my voice has dipped lower and a hell of a lot huskier than I ever intended.

His teeth scrape over his lower lip. “Where would you like me to look?”

Fuck looking. I want you to dive in and eat me out so good they hear me in the next town.

Wait, no. Scratch that.

“I don’t care. Just don’t look at me like that.”

I squirm against the mattress and Zac’s gaze drops to take in the movement. Mine drops too, but it’s to confirm that I’m not wearing my period underwear. Fortunately, Connor kept my lingerie drawer stocked with the nicest stuff, and I’m grateful for the lavender lace now covering me up.

Zac pulls one pant leg over my good foot, and then gently braces my ankle as he peels them off completely. If the wind picked up right now, rattling the leaves above us, I’d have missed the near-silent groan coming out of Zac. But the world outside seems to hold still, breath held, dying to see how this moment unfolds.

He takes in my bare legs. With a swallow, I try to unclench my thighs.

“You always had fucking incredible legs, Mel.”

He’s flirting. He is, isn’t he? In a way that feels like, if I took him up on it, reciprocated it, there’d be a very real chance it would lead to…

Summer said I needed a rebound, didn’t she?

Shut it down, Mel.

“There’s a pair of shorts in my bag.”

He nods. And nods, and nods, like he’s talking himself through something in his head. “Okay,” he says at last, rolling back his shoulders. He reaches for my backpack. “You don’t have any pants? You’ll be freezing.”

“I don’t think I’m getting a pair of jeans over that ankle,” I say, flushing as he sorts past clean pairs of panties. “It’s fine. I’m not going anywhere in this state. I’ll stay huddled under these sleeping bags.”

“If that’s the case, let me do you one better.” He switches bags, digging through his own and pulling out a pair of sweats. “Here. You’ll have to tie them up within an inch of their life, but they should be comfier.”

Instead of pulling them on, Zac takes the t-shirt he’d gone out to soak in the lake and carefully cleans the mud caking my feet and ankles, moving to wipe my hands off too. There’s a tiny furrow in his brow, and he curls his lips into his mouth and bites down in a look so familiar the nostalgia nearly overwhelms me.

I’d seen that look thousands of times growing up, whenever he was singularly focused on a job. Poring over a playbook before a big game. Helping my dad shovel snow off our driveway in the winter.

He glances up to find me watching him. “How’re you feeling?”

I blink away. “Thoroughly embarrassed.”

He pulls his sweats up my legs, warm fingertips skimming my skin along the way, up my calves, my thighs, while his eyes follow their trajectory almost ravenously. By the time he’s cinching the drawstrings, I’m sweating.

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