“There’s more going on here than…” I stopped, recalibrating before trying again. “You don’t keep coming here just because of what happens when the door closes.”
Luka went still.
Great. Fantastic. Maybe don’t phrase emotional vulnerability like a horny idiot next time, Foster.
Then Luka looked at me with an expression so open it nearly knocked the air out of me.
“If I am honest?”
“I’d rather you do that.”
He held my gaze. “For me, you are…návykový.”
“Do I get a translation?”
A faint flush deepened across his cheekbones. “It means… like a drug, maybe. I crave you.”
Jesus Christ.
My brain stalled.
I grinned before I could stop myself. “So what I’m hearing is I’m addictive.”
His mouth twitched.
“But now I need clarification.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Is it me you’re addicted to, or—” I glanced downward meaningfully. “—specific parts of me?”
Luka’s cheeks looked as if they were on fire. “Maybe both?” Then he wrinkled his nose. “I need a shower.” He stood. “I will come back later.”
I pointed to the bathroom. “Use mine.” When he frowned, I smiled. “I’m serious. Why not? It’s got the same shower stuff you use.” I grinned. “I smell it on your skin every time you’re here.”
“But I have been exercising. I do not have a clean shirt.”
I went over to the drawers where I kept my clothing. I removed a plain white tee and tossed it to him. “You can wear that. It should fit.” Then I played my ace. “Besides, you go back to your room, you shower, you change your clothes… All of that takes time.”
He sighed. “I cannot argue with that.”
A moment later he disappeared into the bathroom.
I looked at the closed door and smiled at the image in my head, Luka under a stream of hot water, hair slicked down…
Then my smile packed its bags and left.
Four days ago, I would have given anything for more time with him.
Somehow, now that I had it, it still didn’t feel like enough.
Luka
I bowed my head,letting the warm water flow over me, allowing it to still my mind.
Those photos…
My throat tightened.
Dean’s father on a ladder. His mother laughing. The casual way Dean had handed me the phone, as though none of it required explanation.
I could not imagine mine in the same pictures.
