And because the universe hates me, he drops his towel without a flicker of self-consciousness.
There is a brief but significant period in which my brain ceases to contribute.
He is built exactly the way no one should be allowed to be this casual about. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscle sitting there as if it simply happened by accident.
I am staring.
Fantastic.
It’s not like I didn’t see him naked in the shower, but I’m considerably more aware of it now that my brain is functioning at a level above feral.I look away just as he pulls the T-shirt on and reach for my own bag.
Clothes.
Yes.
Excellent plan.
I pull out my T-shirt and shorts, suddenly far too aware of my own body. Softer. Heavier. Usually not an issue.
Apparently tonight we are insecure.
I turn slightly as I dress.
Not enough to be obvious.
“Philip.”
I freeze.
I glance up.
He is watching me.
“What?” I ask.
He steps closer, unhurried.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Do what.”
“That.”
He gestures vaguely, but I know.
The turningaway.
The shrinking.
I huff out a breath. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You are.”
My gaze flicks to him, then away. “You’ve seen yourself, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve seen me.”
