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She laughed again and shook her head.
I’m not naked. I just . . . might’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to me.
Isn’t that pretty much everything you’re wearing and using right now?
Jerk. Though he was right, so she couldn’t be mad at him.
What if it’s something that belongs to YOU? Would you be mad?
You’re wearing something of mine?
She was embarrassed to admit it. Felt like she was opening herself up to him when she should probably hold back.
Maybe.
His response was immediate.
Tell me.
Instead of telling him, she thought she’d show him. She opened up her camera, hit the icon that flipped it into selfie mode, and snapped a photo of her with no makeup, her hair in a wet braid, and wearing Tate’s shirt. She hit Send before she could second-guess herself, then immediately second-guessed herself.
You’re wearing my shirt. Tell me you’re naked underneath it.
Wren pressed her thighs together. She was definitely getting worked up over his flirtatious texts.
I’m wearing panties. No bra.
Her phone rang, startling her, and she answered it. “Hello?”
“You’re fucking killing me.”
She pressed her lips together to try to contain the smile that wanted to burst free, but it was no use.
“And right now I know you’re laughing or smiling or whatever it is that evil, teasing women do when they purposely set out to drive men crazy,” he continued, sounding completely put out.
“I am not.”
“You so are.” His voice lowered. “You look cute in my shirt.”
“I’ve worn one of your shirts before.”
“Because I put it on you. This time you chose to wear that shirt. You went into my closet, pulled it off the hanger, and slipped it on.” He hesitated. “What were you doing in my closet anyway?”
“Looking for a shirt to wear. I wasn’t snooping.” She chewed on her thumbnail nervously, hating how defensive she just sounded. “I like your T-shirts. They’re really soft,” she admitted.
“As soft as your skin?” His low, deep voice made heat unfurl in her belly.
“Tate . . . ” She squirmed, wondering what they were doing, why they were saying these things. Was it safer since they weren’t actually in the same room together? Or was he doing this to distract her?
If that was the case, then it was working.
“I have a question.” She hesitated, then decided to go with it. “The photos hanging on your wall.”
“The landscapes?”
“Yeah. They’re beautiful. Who took them?”
“I did.”
