I was right, he was on his run. It looks like he brought breakfast too.
Perfect timing. I was about to hunt one of those wild pigs that roam the scrub here at night.
“Look at you. Seems like you had a good night's sleep.”
He brushes a hand over his sweaty forehead, ponytail swaying beautifully in the wind.
I instantly forget how to speak. I have to pinch myself to stop the obscene fantasies flashing in my upstairs circus.
By the time I find my voice, I decide to go with banter. It’s safer.
“I didn’t expect any less in Villa Crumble Aparté.”
I twist away from the slap coming straight for my side.
I expect another, but he steps back. His fingers hook under the hem of his shirt, pulling it off with maddening slowness. Every inch of skin revealed is intentional, I can tell by the way his fingers skim the toned ridges of his abs, one after the other, slow and with soft pressure. There's even a roll with his hips that looks suspiciously professional.
This has Tuesdays at Joan's club written all over it; cops, fire fighters, plumbers and pizza delivery guys. Now add hot yoga teacher to that list.
I know what this is. He’s giving me thirst as punishment for this morning.
“Rude,” he says all chill, but the look he throws over his shoulder is flirty.
“I let you sleep in my bed, I offer you a bright good morning, and you insult my house? I’m starting to feel used,Thomas James McKenna.”
He turns, heading for the outdoor shower.
Barefoot. Half-naked. Sweaty and radiant in the sun.
And like a loyal dog with no sense of self-preservation, I follow.
“No, uhm…your place, it’s really lovely,” I manage to squeeze out, not sure how. The muscles on his back shift and that hypnotizing serpent coils with every step he takes.
“I can only imagine what kind of paradise this will be when it’s finished.”
He’s underneath the shower now, hand hovering over the faucet.
“Call it what you want. You’re still here. And you’re still watching.”
I don’t deny it. Can’t. My silence is a confession.
The humid air in the backyard is thick, and it's not just from last night’s rainfall.
I’m stepping closer. Just one step. It’s enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. Enough that if I reached out, I could graze my fingers down the curve of his spine, make them disappear into his running shorts.
But I don’t. I won’t.
I shove my hands into my pockets like I’m handcuffed.
“Your bed’s the best,” I say, voice rough and low. “I woke up embarrassingly satisfied.”
His shoulders lift with a breath. Still not facing me. So goddamn close.
“I could tell. You showed me you were exactly where you wanted to be.”
I take another step without meaning to. We’re nearly touching now, my shadow blending with his. I could kiss that divine place just below his ear. I could ruin everything.
He finally turns his head, just enough that I see the corner of his mouth lift.
