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His face was too much. She rubbed her hands on her thighs as she felt her cheeks heat.
Howwas he still single? You’d think the women of New York would be falling all over themselves for a gorgeous, sweetheart of a man like this. Clearly they had no taste.
Brooke blew a breath through her teeth. “Okay. Cool. I don’t know what kind of clothes you brought, but it’s not super fancy or anything.” Her face felt too hot, like she might be coming down with something.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said as he yawned. He stood up and stretched again. This time his T-shirt rode up, exposing a patch of tanned waist and the top of a black underwear waistband.
Brooke’s mouth filled with cotton. Yeah, she was coming down with something, all right. She had all the major symptoms: light-headedness, rapid heartbeat, inability to focus, uncontrollable sweating, and dry mouth.
Congratulations, dum-dum, you’ve got a crush on your oldest friend!
Of all the idea flavors in the world, this one tasted like unmitigated disaster.
“I should probably hit the sack.” Dylan threw her an apologetic look as he unzipped his bag. “Sorry I’m so lame tonight.”
“No, it’s fine! I forgot you’re on East Coast time. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.” She jumped up, relieved to have a task to distract herself with.
While Dylan was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Brooke made up the couch for him and put out some food for Murderface, who was still in hiding.
Dylan emerged a few minutes later in a plain white undershirt, sweatpants, and a pair of glasses. He looked like Clark Kent trying to pretend he wasn’t a gorgeous hunk of a man and instead making himself even hotter. Although Dylan had worn glasses every day until the age of sixteen, Brooke had never found them notably sexy on him before. Then again, middle school Dylan had never worn glasses as stylish as the tortoiseshell frames currently making Brooke’s ovaries explode.
“Thanks,” he said, nodding at the bed she’d made for him on the couch as he crossed to his suitcase.
Eyes up, she reprimanded herself as tantalizing movement under his sweatpants vied for her attention.
Unfortunately, lifting her gaze only left her staring directly into his beautiful face.
She couldn’t help staring. It wasn’t her fault his lips were so eminently kissable. They were one of the top five beautiful things about him. Sure, his body was nice, but nice bodies were a dime a dozen in the modeling business. His lips, though, were a one of a kind genetic gift. From the artful curve of his upper lip to the slightly sulky plumpness of his lower lip, which stuck out just enough to demand attention. That lower lip was just begging to be kissed—or better yet, nibbled.
Embarrassed, Brooke tore her eyes away from him before he noticed her gawking. She was feeling the loss of their earlier ease, which seemed to have decamped somewhere between her accidentally asking him on a date and that flash of underwear she’d glimpsed.
“Okay, well, if you’re set, I’m going to bed,” she announced awkwardly.
“I’m all set,” he confirmed.
Brooke bid him goodnight and fled the room as fast as her legs would take her.
She dreamedabout Dylan that night. It wasn’t quite a sex dream, but it was clearly headed in that direction.
In her dream he lay naked on a bed, just like in the infamous Instagram pic. Only instead of the white sheets, king-size bed, and featureless, brightly lit room from Instagram, he was splayed on Brooke’s double bed. On her whale comforter from the kids’ department. In her bedroom.
Dream Brooke stood in the doorway, openly gawking at him, but Dream Dylan didn’t appear to mind her scrutiny. In fact, he seemed to like it. He stared back at her with a hint of a smile on his perfectly shaped lips, his eyebrows slightly raised in expectation. Or was it invitation?
He lay sprawled on his stomach with his arms folded underneath his head and his cheek resting on the back of one hand, just like his pose in the Instagram photo. A lock of thick hair tumbled across his forehead. Brooke’s eyes trailed over his naked body, drinking in the muscular curves. Against her will, she registered the lack of any tan lines. He was all flawless, gleaming skin, stretching on forever like a dripping spoonful of honey.
As he gazed back at her, his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He lifted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “Why don’t you come over here?”
Brooke clutched the doorframe, using it both as a support and a tether. She shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”
Dylan’s lips puckered in a sultry pout she’d only ever seen in his modeling work. “You know you want to, Brooke. You’ve wanted this for years. Ever since prom night.”
She shook her head again. He couldn’t know that. She’d never let on. She’d workedsohard not to let him know.
“Shall I turn over?” he asked with a smirk. “If you want to see everything, you just have to ask.”
It felt like her whole body was paralyzed. Even her vocal cords refused to work. She couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t answer him, couldn’t move any closer, couldn’t flee.
“All you have to do is say it,” Dylan pressed. “Say it, Brooke. Say you want me. Just say the words, Brooke.”
