This is when I realize that he is eye level with my boobs.
And he isdefinitelylooking.
I chose today of all days to not wear a bra, which means my nipples are currently screaming, “HERE I AM! PUT ME IN YOUR HOT MOUTH.”
While he is sufficiently distracted, I manage to retrieve my phone. He doesn’t even try to fight, just lets the thing slip from his fingers.
When he speaks, his voice is three shades darker than before, as are his cheeks and ears. “Why don’t you go out to a bar and talk to guys like a normal person?”
Oh, gee. Why didn’t I think of that? “Because guys who pick up girls in bars are creepy.”
“And guys who hide online are all pillars of virtue.” He rolls his eyes and reaches for the remote as I settle back into my spot to keep searching for my soulmate.
Elliott doesn’t even finish his sentence before I stumble across a discovery of epic proportions.
No freaking way. What a hypocrite. “I don’t know. You look virtuous to me.” I smirk down at my phone. Elliott smiles right back.
Not the real Elliott, mind you. That Elliott is scowling and clearly confused.
“Elliott Grant, thirty-two, lives in Mount Juliette.” I steal a glance at his deepening scowl. “Likes dogs, mint chocolate chip ice cream, and texting late into the night.”
His shoulder bumps against mine as he scoots so close our thighs press together, looking over my shoulder to see my screen. I could’ve shown him, but then I would’ve missed out on getting another good whiff of that soap.
Nothing is going to happen between us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sniff the guy every now and again, does it?
“What the hell?” His hand comes over mine, angling the screen toward himself. I don’t notice for the billionth time how big those hands actually are. Nope. Not at all.
“I’ve never been on a dating app in my life.”
“This picture of you says otherwise. Oh, look! There’s more.” Swipity, swipe, swipe. “Uh, oh. Shirtless.Bigred flag.”
But also, can we take a second to appreciate exactly how many abs this man has? Right now, they probably smell like soap. Is there any non-creepy way to ask him if I can see them again?
No. Probably not.
Although we are living together so chances are I might be treated to another peek at some point.
One can only hope.
Elliott groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Fucking August. I sent that picture to show him what his dog did to me. Left a scar and everything.”
As if he heard my internal struggle, the man—bless his generous soul—hikes up his shirt and sweet saints above, all I can see are ridges and the thinnest trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his black basketball shorts.
When I saw his abs the last time, I didn’t fully appreciate the perfection, but now…
I mean, anyone who looks at this man would know he’s fit, but holy cow. Those abs are still there when he’s hunched over on the couch. How is that even humanly possible?
“See?” he demands with righteous indignation.
Oh, I see, all right.
He taps his side.
Sure enough, a long silver scar runs down the length of his torso.
“I told him to get his damn dog’s nails trimmed or I’d do it myself.”
Mmmhmmm. Dogs. Nails.Abs.
