Page 67 of The Encore’s Crown

“You don't.”

“I do if I want to keep fitting into the leather pants wardrobe keeps putting me in.”

“I’ll buy you bigger pants.”

He laughs under his breath and bends to pick his shirt off the floor.

“And you need to get back to your room before this turns into a fucking disaster.”

I roll onto my back and fling both arms over my head.

“I don’t care.”

“You will when Rafe tries to kill me before breakfast.”

“He can’t kill you.”

“He’d try. Your sister might help.”

I kick one leg beneath the sheets in protest. “She’s supposed to support women.”

“Probably not when the woman is her baby sister and she's sneaking out of my room at five in the morning.”

“You want me to leave after everything we just said and did?”

“I don't want you to leave. But you probably should, before the last day gets ruined by a giant fight in the hallway.”

I begin flailing properly now, twisting in the sheets with all the dignity of a toddler being removed from a toy store. Kiri ignores me. He walks around the room collecting the wreckage of last night. He grabs his black sweatpants from beside the chair, my sweatshirt and, mortifyingly, my lace thong from beneath the desk. He tosses each thing into separate piles with irritating efficiency, but when he bends over to grab his bag, my flailing stops.

Every muscle along his back moves beneath his skin. His shoulders flex as he drags the bag closer, the dark lines of ink moving with him. When he crouches and pulls the zipper open, his thighs tighten, and my brain offers me an extremely detailed replay of what all that strength felt like against me last night. He glances over his shoulder and our eyes meet. I yank the sheet over my head.

His laugh is low and sleepy. “Subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

The zipper moves again and I can hear clothes rustling.

“You know,” he says, “you can’t exactly sneak looks at a rock star.”

I lower the sheet just enough to glare at him.

“Is that so?”

“Kinda our thing. You start feeling it like some kind of animal instinct.”

He folds a shirt with far more care than I’ve ever given any item of clothing in my life.

“There’s that whole thing about particles changing when they’re being watched,” he continues. “Whatever the fuck it’s called. Ronan wouldn't shut up about it but it’s true.”

“That sounded extremely scientific.”

“I’m basically a physicist.”

He packs the shirt, then straightens.

“Watching changes people,” he says. “Right now, I know I’m standing differently because you’re staring at me.”