By the time we drag ourselves out of the hot tub and make our way back down to the shore for our clothes, I’m so sleepy I can barely think straight. Connor is quiet the whole time, and that alone sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me.
The hot tub had felt too good. Letting myself touch him the way I wanted to, feeling how easily he let me, kissing him and then finding him hard afterward—it was enough to mess with my brain. Even now, thinking about it makes heat crawl up my neck. Which is stupid. I know it’s stupid. Getting hard doesn’t have to mean anything. Bodies react. That’s all. And if Connor’s silence is anything to go by, he’s probably uncomfortable about what happened too.
The walk back to the cottage passes in silence. Connor carries his towel and clothes bunched in one hand, leaving just enough space between us for me to notice it. I want to say something—anything—to break this awful tension, but my brain has apparently left the building.
So we just walk.
Great.
When we reach the cottage, Connor holds the door open for me, his eyes fixed somewhere over my left shoulder.
“Thanks,” I mumble, stepping inside.
The cottage suddenly feels too small, too intimate. Even though we’ve toweled off, water still drips from our bodies onto the hardwood floor. We head upstairs, and the second we step into the bedroom, Connor says, “I should shower—”
“I’ll go shower—” I say at the exact same time.
We both stop.
Connor gives me a small, tight smile and gestures for me to go first.
“You can go if you want,” I say.
He pushes a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back from his forehead. “I think there’s another bathroom downstairs,” he says. “I can use that one. You take this one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I nod and turn to my bag, dropping my dirty clothes and digging out clean ones like I’m trying to escape something. Maybe I am. My heart is pounding by the time I make it into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I strip off my wet boxer briefs and step into the shower, turning the water just shy of too hot.
God, this is awkward.
Did I overdo it with the kissing? Connor didn’t say anything, and he didn’t seem uncomfortable. Hell, he seemed into it. He kissed me back like he meant it. And when I accidentally touched his cock, I’m pretty sure he made a sound. Like, a moan. So why do I feel like I did something wrong?
Maybe it’s because of the panic that flashed across his face when Maya interrupted us and I pulled away. He didn’t look horrified by the kiss. Was he horrified that I touched him? Or horrified that he got hard?
I sigh and rub my shoulders under the spray.
Even with all the awkwardness and regret fighting for space in my chest, there’s also this tiny spark of excitement I really wish I didn’t feel. Excitement over the fact that Connor got hard because I kissed him. Connor O’Reilly. My stupidly attractive neighbor. Turned on by kissing me.
A laugh slips out of me, a little hysterical. I tip my head back and let the water run down my face.
I shouldn’t read too much into it. It doesn’t automatically mean Connor’s gay, or even bi. It doesn’t mean he actually wants me. Bodies are weird. They react to all kinds of things. Maybe it was just the physical sensation of kissing. The heat of the water. The closeness.
But still.
The fact that Connor could react to me like that—to our kiss—makes something warm spread through my chest and then lower.
Arousal.
Shit.
I finish showering and stay under the water for another second, trying to get my head straight. Then I shut it off, dry myself, pull on a clean T-shirt and boxer briefs, and step back into the bedroom.
The cottage is quiet. Connor must still be downstairs.
We still have, like, three hours before Dad’s birthday dinner. I should probably check my phone. Maybe answer Britney, who sent about a dozen texts while we were in the hot tub. But the bed looks too good, and after everything today—the talk with Rick in the woods, the chicken fight, the kiss, and then the hot tub with my ex, his girlfriend, and my new crush—I’m exhausted.
