Page 99 of Not In A Billion Years

I tap her nose. “A sleepover was never part of the plan.”

She looks at me like she’s one second away from kissing the life out of me, but then her eyes shift away scared, and she changes the subject. “Am I your first guest?”

“I brought Thomas here for a week a few years ago when he was nursing a bad heartbreak, but that’s it.”

She frowns. “It’s hard to imagine Thomas taking anything seriously.”

“Yep, it was pretty scary to see him so morose.”

“Afraid he’d steal the scepter of family grump?”

“Are you bantering again, Miss Sass?”

“No, nope.” She gathers her hair in a ponytail and wraps a rubber band around it. “I’m going to shower.”

“Want company?”

She levels me with a stare, and I raise my hands. “Just kidding. I’ll get you some clean clothes to wear.” As I move to my bedroom to rummage in the sportswear drawer, I mutter, “Or not wear.”

“I heard that,” she yells.

“What?” I make an innocent face as I come out of the bedroom and hand her the clean clothes.

She pouts. “You didn’t finish all the hot water, did you? Or I might have to kill you.”

“Oh, harsh. But it might be a good death, depending on how you did it. What did you have in mind?”

Blake taps my forehead with a finger. “None of the nasty stuff playing around in that head of yours, perv.” She takes the clothes from me and retreats into the bathroom.

I can almost imagine the petulant expression on her face as the lock clicks into place.

I bark out a laugh. “Call me if you need help shampooing.”

“I’m flipping you the bird.”

“Is that an invitation to grab your finger and get naughty with it?”

“Go get dressed, Gabriel. I don’t want to see any chest hair when I come out.”

“As the lady commands.”

In my room, I pull on a pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved Henley. Then, just because I’m a jerk, I stand in front of the mirror and undo the tiny buttons at the top until just the hint of chest hair is visible underneath.

38

BLAKE

I come out of the bathroom looking like a gray human larva in Gabriel’s oversized clothes.

MGM, on the contrary, is dressed to break hearts in a simple gray-sweatpants-white-Henley combo. He’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. But when he hears the bathroom door open, I have his undivided attention.

The look he gives me threatens to melt the larva clothes right off me and turn me into a lustful butterfly. Add his tousled hair that has dried in adorable silky curls, of which I can’t forget the feel between my fingers. The cocky smile. And sexy stubble. And I’m tempted to flee to my room and spend the rest of the day locked inside for real.

I paddle through to the living room, sitting on the opposite side of the couch to him at a safe distance.

“What do you want to do all day?” I ask since the storm outside doesn’t look like it’s about to break.

He drops his phone on the coffee table and studies me for a second. “I believe we should talk.”

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