Page 5 of Hooked on Love

“I considered the plunger.”

He grimaces. “Would’ve been effective.”

Another beat. The tension easing now, shifting into something less hostile. Still awkward as heck, but less like we’re about to cause a scene.

“So.” I pull my robe tighter. “Ground rules.”

He nods. “Sure.”

“You’re taking the couch, obviously. And don’t even think about coming near the bathroom when I’m in there.”

His jaw ticks. “Trust me, sweetheart, once was enough.”

The word ‘sweetheart’ lands wrong. Condescending. Like I’m some kid who needs managing instead of a woman whose space he invaded.

My spine straightens. “Don’t call me that.”

“Noted.” He sighs. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, we figure out a better solution. Because this—” I gesture between us. “—isn’t going to work long-term.”

“Agreed.”

He kicks aside a duffel bag I hadn’t noticed by the couch and sits, unlacing his boots with methodical movements.

I should go to my room. Lock the door. Process everything that just happened.

But I’m frozen, watching him. The way his broad shoulders move under his shirt. The exhaustion etched into his features. The grease smudge on his jaw…

“You’re going to shower, right?”

He glances up and stares. His gaze doesn’t waver and I catch his drift. Dumb question?

Heat floods my face. “Right, well, goodnight.”

“Night, Peyton.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the way he says my name, like he’s tasting it, testing it.

I turn and walk to the bedroom, very aware of his gaze on me until I close the door. I lean against it, heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

This is fine. He’ll be gone tomorrow, and this will just be a ridiculous story I tell someday about the time a stranger walked in on me in my bathroom, fresh out of the shower.

Except…

A flash of the way he looked at me in the mirror floods my mind. That split second before he turned away, and the way his gaze felt like a physical touch—a caress, even.

I shake my head, pushing off the door. No. Absolutely not. I am not attracted to the man who just scared me half to death.

Even if he does have really nice shoulders.

And kind eyes under all that grease and stiffness.

And a voice that does something to my wits when he says my name.

Stop it, Peyton.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling.