Page 29 of Play Dirty

He stood under the spray, head tipped back, one hand braced on the tile while the other dragged slowly through his hair. He was pushing it back as the water ran down, over his face. His neck. His chest…

The shower curtain was only half open, but I could see more than enough. And though I shouldn’t be looking at all, I also couldn’t stop myself.

I didn’t move. Either my feet were unwilling, or my mind hadn’t ordered them yet.

I didn’t think, either.

I just… watched.

He was broader than I realized; not just built, but actually defined. Every line of his body was sharpened by the water, his muscles shifting and going tight as he moved. His shoulders rolled forward and back as he rinsed out the shampoo, water tracking down over his chest, over a stomach that wasn’t just flat, but carved. Controlled.

Like everything else about him.

Grayson didn’t rush; he took his time. He moved with the same quiet confidence he carried on the ice, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I was clutching the doorframe until my hand started hurting. My eyes stayed locked on his body though, watching as he dragged his hands downward, over his chest. My heart was beating double-time as they moved lower. Then lower still…

I blinked, but it was too late. I’d been gripping the shower caddy so tightly against my body it actually popped loose! It fell to the floor with a clatter, along with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and the peach-colored loofah I’d taken from my bedroom.

I scrambled quickly, shoving everything back into the caddy as I sensed a shift in the shower. Then I fled to my bedroom, practically running, not caring where I stepped. And of course, the hallway continued betraying my feet, as they somehow managed to find every creaky floorboard.

I slammed the door behind me and dropped my things on the bed. Then I sunk my face into my hands.

Did he see?

Maybe. Maybe not.

And did it really matter? It was only a shower. A guy — showering. Big deal. You’ve been in their locker room for Chrissak—

There wasn’t a knock. There wasn’t even the sound of the door being pushed open.

No, it was a presence that caused me to turn around.

Grayson stood in my doorway. Water still clung to him, droplets streaming down his arms and chest in warm rivulets. A towel hung low on his hips — dangerously low — and it looked to be just barely secured… like it could slip off at any moment, and fall to the ground.

His arms were raised, one hand braced against the top of the doorframe. He looked casual. Unbothered. Completely and utterly sure of himself.

FUCK.

He was gorgeous. Panty-droppingly hot, actually. The truth was bitter, but undeniable.

Somewhere, deep in my chest, I felt my heart kick things up another notch.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked.

He said it smooth. Too smooth.

I crossed my arms immediately and without thinking.

“If I wanted a show, I’d pick one worth watching.”

Grayson’s mouth twitched. Not into a smile, but something close enough.

“Funny,” he said off-handedly. “Could’ve asked.”

“For what?”

“To look.”