Page 24 of Fighting Words

I take a fresh set of clothes into the bathroom down the hall, shower, and change. After I dry my hair, I apply a little makeup, which feels silly because who’s going to see me here except Nate? But getting ready for the day makes me feel better, or at least that’s the explanation I delude myself with. Never mind that most of the time in grad school I’d lumber out of bed and leave my apartment wearing yesterday’s leggings and a sweatshirt pulled from the pile of clothes on my desk chair.

I take my dirty clothes back to my room and tidy up a little bit. A few minutes later, I hear the shower running down the hall, so Nate must be awake now too. I wonder when he got back last night. I’m frowning as I think over what he was doing—his time spent with Alice—and then once I realize I’m frowning, I force a laugh (which feels a little crazy in my room by myself). Cat is the only one around to hear me, and he’s still underneath the covers. He’s only poked his nose out for air.

I’ll need to do laundry in a few days, but for now I still have clothes and underwear to tide me over. I grab a pair of socks and hurry to put them on. My toes are freezing after my shower. Then I head out into the hall just in time to come face to face with Nate as he leaves the bathroom. He has one hand fisting the top of a towel slung low around his hips.

He’s not wearing any clothes.

HE’S NOT WEARING ANY CLOTHES.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I need to step to the side so he can get to his room, but I don’t move. I’m in shock. I watch water droplets sluice down his muscular chest and trim stomach. I knew he was tall and formidable, but I didn’t imagine his body was this incredible. Wide shoulders, broad chest, and a tapered waist. My gaze sweeps across him like I have the right to look when I should be covering my eyes and excusing myself, scooting past him as quickly as possible. If he accidentally dropped that towel…

The butterflies come back with a vengeance again. It’s the feeling I’ve wished for a thousand times, only it doesn’t feel quite as innocent as before. It’s accompanied by a tightening in my stomach, a heat that sears. Suddenly, it’s too much.

I close my eyes and shake my head. My hand belatedly flies up to shield my eyes. “I’m sorry!”

I always bring my clothes into the bathroom with me so I can change in there after I shower. Maybe he forgot to bring his clothes with him this time… Maybe this is his cottage and he can do whatever the hell he wants… Maybe I should stop peeking at him through my fingers…

Nate doesn’t say a word as he walks past. To him, this is nothing.

His door opens and closes, and I’m left pressed against the wall in the hallway, trying to catch my breath. I can see my chest rising and falling, quickly. My heart thinks I’m running a marathon.

I look up to the ceiling and force a deep, yoga-inspired inhale.In through your nose, out through your mouth.Then I shake it off and head downstairs. I refuse to let him affect me like this. He is just a man and I’m just a woman. And so what if I’m still picturing him in there, whipping that towel off and…

Agh!

I take the stairs two at a time like if I flee fast enough, I’ll be able to shake free of my feelings and leave them up in that hallway never to be felt again. Downstairs, there’s an old English sheepdog lying in front of the fireplace, his face nearly lost beneath a heavy coat of white and gray fur. When he sees me coming down the stairs, his tail starts to wag with excitement, thumping against the floor like a drum.

A little squeal of excitement erupts out of me. This must be the dog Nate talked about, the one who comes to visit every now and then.

“Oh hi, big guy!”

He’s too old to get up with ease, so I go to him, crouching down so I can rub his soft head and ears. Oh, he’s so warm. He’s been getting toasty by the fire for a while it seems. Did Nate let him in this morning or last night? I ask him his name and where he’s from. He responds by licking my hand and then my cheek.

“Nate warned me about the animals, but I didn’t think I’d get so lucky to be greeted by you this morning, you gorgeous man.”

“Who are you talking to?”

I look over my shoulder to see theothergorgeous man just as he steps off the last stair. Today, he’s going to torture me in a cream cable knit sweater and navy pants. His hair is damp and messy.

“You need a haircut,” I tell him before turning back to give the dog my full attention. He’s such a sweet thing, turning over onto his back so I’ll rub his chest and belly.

“I know,” Nate replies. “Want to give me one?”

I sputter out a reply. “What? No way. I’d botch it.”

“No, you won’t. Come on. All you have to do is trim it up a bit. I have a good pair of scissors around here somewhere.”

I whip around to admonish him. “Nate.”

He doesn’t even look at me as he gets his coffee. “The nearest barber is in Kendal, and I’m not driving all the way there for a haircut. So if you won’t help me out, I’m just going to shave it.”

Dear godno. All that gorgeous brown hair, slightly curled and boyish—I’d have a heart attack if he took it all off.

He starts opening drawers in the kitchen. “I would have already found the scissors if you hadn’t moved things around.”

“Need I remind you about the moldy lemon? The scissors are now all grouped together in that drawer there.”

He follows my finger and yanks the drawer open, immediately finding what he’s looking for. Imagine that.

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