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And then he stepped into a pair of jeans.
Fuuuuuck.
Those big, strong legs…
But the stench of the mothballs interfered.
“NO, we don’t,” I said as I backed across the room. “Ugh – if you wanted to turn me off, congratulations, it worked.”
The mothballs were a turn-off –
But not the rest of what he was doing.
He pulled a t-shirt on, and I got a little wet watching his pecs flex and his abs ripple as he lifted his arms.
He looked like a thirst trap post on Instagram as he pulled the t-shirt over his head.
“Good,” he said.
I frowned. Jeans, t-shirt – there was a green plaid shirt on the bed –
“Why are you dressing like that?” I asked.
I didn’t like it.
I mean, I kind of did like it –
Which is why I didn’t like it.
What with his neatly trimmed beard, he was transforming in front of my eyes from a mafioso prick to a rugged, backwoods badass –
And was actually looking hotter than ever, which pissed me off even more.
He slipped on the long-sleeve plaid shirt and began to button it up. “We can’t go traipsing around the woods in designer clothes. We’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
I frowned even harder. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“This is all I’ve got to wear.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, which groaned beneath his weight, and put on some thick tan socks. “Which is why we’re going into town to get you some new clothes. We’ll eat breakfast first, but – ”
We’re going into town –
Whoa, whoa, whoa –
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be seen,” I said in irritation.
He shrugged as he pulled on some brown hiking boots. “It’s unavoidable.”
“You said we couldn’t go into town last night and stay in a hotel!” I protested, my temper starting to rise.
He finally looked up at me – now fully transformed into Mr. Hot Mountain Man – and gave me a smug ‘fuck you’ grin.
“Well… you seemed to enjoy your time here, anyway. I know I certainly did.”
THAT turned my temper up to 11 for sure.
