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“I see.”
Andy wasn’t sure that he did, but she didn’t feel like elaborating on her history with Carson at the moment. Her brain was already moving on to the logistics of the here and now with Luke.
“Great!” she said brightly. “Well, I have extra toothbrushes I saved from the dentist. They’re in the top drawer of the bathroom vanity. It’s just down the hall. Also, I have those floss pick thingys. The mint kind.”
Luke cracked a smile at her nervous rambling. “I do like mint.”
Andy did too. Especially smelling it on him.
Damn it! Don’t go there.
“I don’t have any men’s pajamas though,” she carried on, rocking slightly as her anxiety grew. “So you can just wear your boxers. I m-mean, if you’re wearing boxers.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Why did she turn into a stammering, blathering idiot around guys she really liked?
Holy shit, she really liked Luke!
Like REALLY freaking liked Luke.
This was so not good.
Not when she still REALLY liked Kyle. Okay, maybe she didn’t REALLY like him. But, yeah, shereallyliked him too.
“Andy” — Luke’s voice broke through her mini moral crisis with husky-sounding mirth — “I’m gonna hit the bathroom while you change in here. Then we can switch up. That good?”
“Y-yeah. That works.”
He slipped from the room, closing the door behind him.
Andy made a mad dash for her dresser.
“Pretty bird, Andy. Pretty bird.”
“I know, Petals, I know! I need something sexy.” She rifled through her pajama drawer, the contents of which largely consisted of sleeveless, tagless, and shapeless cotton gowns. In other words, nothing sexy.
Yanking open the next drawer down, Andy pulled out the one pair of shorty-shorts she owned. Sky blue with a small split on the bottom hem of each side and made of a soft terrycloth material she’d always liked. Not exactly Victoria’s Secret, but they’d do.
Stripping off her cargo shorts and work shirt, Andy donned the shorty-shorts with a heather-gray sleep tank. Then she yanked out her falling ponytail, snatched up a brush, and went to work on her hair. After a few fruitless passes, her bedroom door creaked back open. Andy tossed her brush at the laundry basket as Luke entered the room.
He closed the door quietly, not appearing to notice the giant Henry Cavill sketch mad-dogging him from the back of it as his gaze swept up from the floor and locked on Andy.
Padding over to the dresser, he stopped a few feet from her. Close enough for her to see the rise of his chest as he drew in a sharp breath and the heat in his eyes as they traveled the length of her. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You have any more of those shorts?”
“No. My others are all cargos.”
“Hmm,” he said, not sounding real surprised, “that’s too bad.” His gaze lingered for another few seconds on her skimpy sleepwear before rising. Then he smiled and tapped her arm. “Tag, you’re it.”
Catching his meaning, she snorted out another weird giggle and dashed from the room.
In the bathroom, Andy took her turn with the toothpaste and floss picks, then washed and moisturized her face. After a quick pee and a few swipes of deodorant, she felt mostly ready to deal with whatever was about to happen in her bedroom.
But as soon as she slipped back into it, she wasn’t so sure. The lamps on her nightstands had been dimmed, and the only other source of illumination was that spilling from the sliding glass doors next to her desk.
“I’m a little hot,” Luke said as he stood there in the moonlight.
That was a real understatement. Andy had seen the man shirtless and in his boardies plenty of times, but staring at him in profile wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs was a totally different thing. Mostly because the underwear hugged the curves of his ass so spectacularly.
