I placed my other hand over her mouth. A headache pulsed at the back of my skull. I had brought her here. That was my choice, yet I was embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable position. What if she saw the truth about me? It was too soon.
“Stop talking,” I said.
Her quick breaths warmed my palm covering her mouth. Her eyes widened at the unexpected contact. Bursts of sensation shot through my body.
I glared hard enough that my annoyance would come across even with my bandana in place. I dropped her hand that had been reaching for my bandana. Holding her hand had unwanted consequences. It was best to avoid touching her at all. I released her mouth too, slowly, in case she started up again. Her full lips closed to suck in her bottom lip, actively fighting the words that wanted to spill out, no doubt.
Her skin was colorless this morning. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, fuzzy on the side she slept on. As I’d checked in on her throughout the night, she’d remained sound asleep in the same exact balled-up position. Her chapped lips and bleary eyes concerned me.
“Did you eat?” I asked her.
She looked at me as though this were some sort of test. After a moment, she nodded.
“And drank some water? You don’t look so good.”
With that, her eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue. Now that she had quieted, the lack of rambling made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t like to be the one required to make conversation. It never came easy for me like it had for Wes. Her silence made me uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable made me angry.
“Are you done pawing at me?” I asked.
She nodded once. So this was the game.
“You can speak,” I said.
“How kind of you.”
I stood to tower over her. “At rehearsal, you rarely talk.”
“I’m respectful.”
Somehow, I doubted that. I saw the looks she shot the clarinetist, Erin. I crossed my arms to mirror her stance.
“Right,” I said.
Her eyes kept darting to my body and after a pointed look she blurted out, “I’m not the one that’s basically naked save for a mask. It’s very misleading. Either be naked or put more clothes on.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“No … I’m not bothered. This isn’t … I don’t care.” With every protest her voice grew an octave higher. “A man’s body. Pfft. It’s whatever.” Her gaze moved from my chest to my face to the ceiling to the piano and back to my chest again in a second. At least some color rose to her cheeks. Maybe that was key. Distraction from the oddness of the situation.
“You seem flustered.” I stepped closer, purposely invading her space.
Even now, as she pretended to metaphorically clutch her pearls, her gaze had trouble staying still. Her tongue popped out to lick her lip and her swallow was audible. I flexed my pecs, a quick jump. Her eyes widened a fraction before refocusing on my face.
“I’m not flustered. A body is a body. My mother is a painter. Naked people constantly traipse through my house.” She frowned as what she said sank in, like she hadn’t meant exactly that. I had to admit, I was having a little fun now.
“Hmm.” I stepped closer. My voice rumbled lower. “You’re totally comfortable?”
“Yup. Mm-hm.” Her focus returned to the ceiling.
I leaned lower. She smelled amazing for having just woken up; like a sun-warmed blanket on a summer picnic.
“And now?” I asked lowering my voice to a growl.
“Well, I mean, typically my personal space isn’t violated like you’re doing.”
I bit back a smile. This was more like it. “Are you saying you feel uncomfortable with me getting too close?”
“I’m not intimidated by rock hard abs and imposing biceps.”
