He said something about how dragon shifters run hot anyway and that he never sleeps with a shirt.
The fact that I didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot was a small miracle.
Somehow, I held it together and muttered what I thought was a very put-together and nonchalant, “Okay,” accompanied by a shrug of my own. But as we quickly got ready for bed I couldn’t look in his direction. Not even when he slid under the covers next to me.
He offered to sleep on the floor, which I thought was nice, but my shoes were sticking to the carpet, so I couldn’t let him do that. Just the thought of walking barefoot around the room was making me cringe.
I slept on my side, so close to the edge of the bed a gentle nudge would have sent me to the sticky floor below, spending the first hour faking sleep until my exhaustion finally pulled me under.
Now it’s a new day, and I’m once again faced with a front-row view of the most perfectly sculpted chest known to man.
There’s only so much a girl can take.
Without meaning to, I start counting each bump and ripple, my eyes skating over the view, trying to decide what’s more distracting.
All that muscle definition, or the ink.
Becks is sporting some pretty major tattoos. On his left arm is an illustrated dragon that wraps around his bicep and curls onto his shoulder. The beast is both vicious and beautiful, and I’m dying to get a closer look at all those details.
An anatomical heart made of teal dragon scales sits over his left pectoral, and it keeps drawing my attention. It’s so lifelike that I want to reach out and trace it, just to see if I can feel the smooth scales beneath my fingers.
He’s a dragon shifter, so the tattoos make sense, yet I can’t help but wonder if there’s a deeper meaning behind them. But my attention doesn’t stay there long as my gaze is already drifting lower.
Is it possible to have more than eight abs? Because unless I’ve suddenly lost my ability to count, he has ten.
“—so I think that’s what we should do.”
Oh shoot. He was just talking and I missed almost every word.
“Ahh,” I reply. “Sure.”
He gives me a look that says he knows I don’t have any idea what he just said. And he’s not wrong.
I feel my cheeks warm. “Sorry. I’m not a morning person. It takes me a little while to wake up.”
He nods like that makes perfect sense.
I need to get it together.
“I was saying that I think we should hit the road and head south, avoiding as many of the major cities as possible. I want to stay clear of New York, but not so far away that we can’t get back there in a day if we need to.”
“Sure. Sounds like a plan.” Well, not really, but what else am I supposed to say? I gesture toward the open bathroom door behind him. “I just need a few minutes and then we can head out.” My gaze drifts to the side because, once again, I can’t look at him.
He seriously needs to learn to be fully clothed before interacting with people.
“Of course,” he says, and then steps to the side at the same time I do.
We kinda shift back and forth, trying to get out of each other’s way a few times, before he stops and grabs my arms.
The heat from his fingers sears my biceps as he moves around me. I give a nervous laugh and then flee to the bathroom. Only to realize when I’m leaned up against the shut door that I don’t have any of my toiletries or a change of clothes.
I lean my head back against the door with an almost silent groan, but Becks still hears me.
“Everything okay?” he calls.
I shake my head. Everything is very much not okay.
But instead of confessing that, I call, “Everything’s great,” and prepare to brush my teeth with my finger.
