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I’m in Zach’s room.
It’s nothing illegal. I’m just here to clean. Actually, Grace was supposed to do that, but I switched towers with her.
She smiled at me a little but other than that, she didn’t say anything.
It’s okay. She’s good at keeping secrets. Not that anything secretive is going on here. I’m just doing my job.
Among other things.
The only kinda iffy thing is that the door was locked and even after knocking, he didn’t open. But I got in anyway via a hairpin; I had it on good authority that he was home.
And he is.
He’s in the bathroom, taking a shower, and I’m out here, making his bed.
Over the gentle hum of the water and trying not to imagine him naked, I straighten out his pillows, tuck his bedding the right way and pick up his strewn-about clothes. Even with that, I think his is the cleanest room I’ve cleaned.
His book is nowhere to be seen and I wonder what he did with it. I wonder if he still has it.
Then the shower’s turned off and a shadow falls across the room – as crazy as that sounds – and I know he’s out.
He stands at the threshold of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his slim but muscular hips, and he’s drying his wet, extremely wet, hair with another one.
His eyes are trained on me but he doesn’t look surprised to see me. I might be losing my touch there.
I might also be losing my mind and all my senses because all I can do right now is stare at him. Stare at his gorgeous cut body.
I’m not one of those girls who go all crazy over a good physique. Nope. I mean, I enjoy it but I don’t make it my wallpaper. But I’d make him my wallpaper and I wouldn’t even be ashamed of it.
Take his neck, for example. It’s something so innocent and mundane, but not on him. On him, neck takes on another meaning. Long, graceful, tendons rippling, veins standing taut.
There are drops sliding down and I’d lick all of them, snaking down his prominent, beautifully sculpted collarbones, his chest.
Oh God, one goes to his tight, dark nipple.
And the ridges of his abs. Six. I count like an idiot. He has a six pack and that V. Now I know why everyone’s so crazy about the V.
I get it.
It’s all about where that V leads to. It’s about…
“My face is up here.”
I snatch my gaze up, feeling flushed all over. “I know.” I bat a wayward curl off my forehead. “Are you planning on putting on some clothes any time soon?”
With a dark sort of amusement, he looks me up and down, making my uniform feel tight, tighter across my chest. My tits. “Not particularly.”
I swallow. “Do it. It’s good for the environment.”
He’s setting the room on fire.
“Can’t say I care about the environment very much.” He smirks, giving my chest one last glance. “But I do care about how flushed you look. And the state of your nipples. They’re trying to punch holes through your uniform.”
With that, he gives his hair one last rub with the towel before dropping it on the floor and walking away.
“You asshole.”
He goes to his dresser, his back rippling, and I swear I hear him smile.
