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My heart jumps.
“Yeah?”
“King suite.” He glances at me again. “Figured we’d want the space.”
I swallow hard and nod.
I don’t know how to do this, how to ask for what I want. I’ve never had to ask before because Lucien always seems to know. He reads me like I’m an open book, like every thought I have is written across my face.
When we get to the room, I stand awkwardly, not sure if I’ll be the one to initiate.
Lucien takes my bag from me and sets it down with his by the closet. He takes off his coat and tosses it on the chair. I do the same and wait, still standing in the center of the room. He turns to me, smiling. I smile back at him, my eyes meeting his, trying to sense the direction this night will take.
Lucien kneels and, with his back to me, unzips his bag and digs around.
“Okay if I shower?” he asks.
“Go ahead.”
Should I ask him now or after the shower? I try to work up the courage, but it’s not there yet.
He carries his toiletries to the bathroom and sets them on the counter. From the bed, I sit and watch him through the open bathroom door, my leg bouncing with nervous energy.
He leaves the bathroom, walking past me to his bag to grab a pair of flannel sleep pants. He stands facing me and peels off his shirt, and for a heartbeat, his face is hidden, leaving only the definition of his chest and the line of his abs exposed. I absorb the image before he can catch me staring. I pull the hem of my shirt, lift it off, and toss it on the bed. I’m hoping that with us both shirtless, Lucien will get the idea, walk over, and push me onto the bed. Instead, he unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down, stepping out of them carelessly. He’s wearing dark boxers, and he’s not hard, but I can see the appealing shape of him. He drapes his flannel pants over his arm to carry into the bathroom.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says lightly, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door and the water starts.
I stand and pace the space between the bed and the window. I sit back down. I lie back. I get up again.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still waiting, trying not to count the minutes. How long can a shower possibly take? I scroll through my phone, thinking vaguely about what I want to say, but I hope Lucien will just make a move.
Finally, Lucien emerges, and, God, he looks good. His dark hair is damp and swept to the side. His skin is flushed from the hot water. He’s wearing just flannel pants now, no shirt, his body glowing from the steam.
He catches me staring and grins, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“What?” he asks, sounding innocent.
“Nothing…just thinking.”
“Mmmm,” he hums. He drags his eyes over me while I sit uselessly on the bed.
Is he going to do something?
No.
He walks over to his bag and digs through it again, pulling out items for his skincare routine. He takes his time applying each step, standing in front of the mirror by the dresser. His movements are so mundane that I’m irritated. Is this how we’re going to spend our first night together?
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “how long until you’re done with everything?”
He glances at me in the mirror. “Why? You have somewhere to be?”
“No, I just— I thought maybe we could talk or something.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about, Cam?” His voice is playful and teasing.
“I just mean—” I flounder, suddenly without words.
He doesn’t wait for me to complete the thought. He finishes with his face and moves to the bathroom again, leaving the door open. I hear him brushing his teeth, and I wander over to him, hoping I’ll think of something to say before I get to the bathroom. I lean in the doorway, trying to look nonchalant.
