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I couldn’t tell if he was angry, tired, or just so turned on that it physically hurt.
But if he needed space, I would give it to him. I grabbed a towel and my pajamas and shut the door to the bathroom.
I heard him suck in his breath as if he had just plunged into ice-cold water, and the shower was off a few seconds later.
I quickly dried myself and slipped into my silk pajamas. I searched my luggage for the lotion and was moisturizing my legs when he walked out, hair drenched and a towel wrapped around his waist.
“You can have the bed tonight,” he said. He grabbed some shorts from his dresser and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
What was that about?
He knew my condition. He agreed to it. I couldn’t make this mess get any crazier than it already was.
I pushed my luggage to the other side of the bed and got under the covers. I turned the lights off with the remote he placed there. One of the buttons said two-way. I pressed it and saw a faint veil disappear from the window. This must be the setting that lets people see inside.
I quickly switched it back to one-way mode. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
* * *
It feltlike hours had gone by when I looked at my phone for the time. It was 1:16 in the morning. I had barely been asleep for two hours. The house was quiet, and my stomach was growling.
I threw the covers over my head, trying to fight the urge to eat, but my body won out. I grabbed some flip-flops from my bag and went in search of a midnight snack.
Weston had dim floor lights illuminating the halls as planes did down the center aisle.
It was super helpful since I used to stub my toes constantly getting midnight snacks when I would stay over with him.
I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He had everything so neatly organized, with labels on some prepped meals.
Chicken Pad Thai Spicy lamb curry. Shepherd’s pie. Fettuccine Alfredo.
The man had a personal Epcot of cuisines in his fridge. It was hard to choose just one.
“Chef made a mean yellow curry this week.”
I jumped at the sudden voice.
Weston was leaning against the island, wearing only the black shorts that hung low, revealing the top of perfect v-shaped muscles. He took a bite from his apple.
“How are you so stealthy? You’re like a freakin’ ninja,” I said, catching my breath.
He pushed off and sauntered toward me.
“You have to be stealthy when hunting a bunny.” He winked and reached behind me into the fridge.
He handed me a bowl with a lid that read ‘yellow curry.’
“You’ll love it.” He promised.
“Thanks.” I searched for the microwave.
He opened a drawer, produced a spoon, and then handed it to me, motioning towards the discreet microwave hiding in plain sight.
“You’ve made a lot of little changes, I see.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you helped with those.”
I popped the bowl's lid, placed it in the microwave, and then turned back to him.
