AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As the glass around me steams, I wonder what she’s thinking right now. Whether seeing me in only a pair of jeans had anything close to the effect on her that seeing her in a small towel has had on me. Her hair messy and wet. God, how I’d like to get wet in the shower with her and give her hair a reason to be messed up.
Without conscious thought, my palm covers what is now a full-blown stand to attention from Prince Harrington.
Don’t do it, buddy. Kill the thought.
I can’t.
I’m like a bug to a light.
I know I’m crossing a line I don’t want to cross.
But what if she has stripped out of that towel? What if she’s lying back on my bed right now, crossing the line with me?
If she is, we relieve tension together and forget it. Move on. That’s all.
When I exit the Garden of Eden, I dry off in the bathroom and slip into a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.
I head back to my bedroom, a little disappointed when I find an empty room, rather than Becky naked on the bed.
No, that’s a good thing. Back to Drew and Becky, who have agreed to just stay as friends. Who shouldn’t be thinking about each other that way. Who, I’m realizing, both seem to have mental issues. Who, at least for my part, are better versions of themselves when they are together.
Yep, back to Drew and Becky. Who absolutely will not be sleeping together. I head downstairs with wet hair and bare feet, feeling more at home than I have in years. My dad and Eddie are still watching the football, both gripping bottles of beer as if their lives depend on them. Timmy is now asleep on Eddie’s lap – how I like the kids best. Joking!
They update me on the score, and I watch the next play, then I follow voices into the kitchen.
I find all the women in the house at work, beating what I imagine is cake batter in large bowls. Annalise has a smaller bowl. Her One Direction T-shirt is covered in flour. She is standing on a chair by Becky, still only just tall enough to stir a spoon into her bowl on top of the counter.
Michael Bublé is playing through docking speakers, and I recognize Becky’s cell phone in the stand. I may have to give her some grief about Bublé later.
On second thought, that will probably lead to her giving me grief about *NSYNC. Better not.
I lean against the doorframe and watch the scene. Becky is wearing leggings and an oversized shirt that falls off her shoulder. Her blonde locks are tied in a messy knot on top of her head, still damp from the shower. She’s put a small amount of makeup around her eyes, but otherwise, she looks fresh and young…
…and extremely bed-able.
Ah, British Becky, you are torturing me.
Annalise catches me and flashes a huge, teeth-baring grin. She rubs flour from her nose, or rather, deposits more on the end, as she says, ‘Uncle Drew, we’re making cupcakes.’
My lips burst into a beam that turns to a short laugh when Becky looks right at me and shrugs.
‘I think I’ll leave you ladies to it. I’m just going to grab a beer.’
I take three bottles of Bud from the fridge and move to the bench by Becky, gesturing to the drawer that is home to the bottle opener.
‘Can I just—’ She steps back, clumsily bumping into my shoulder.
‘Oh, yeah, sure.’
I flick the tops off the bottles and put the opener back in the drawer. Our eyes meet, and there’s something about her expression that I like. A spark. A flame. It makes me wonder whether she did take care of herself on my bed while I was showering.
As if she’s asking herself the same question, her lips part. I immediately feel the heat between us again. Then I put out the fire with my equivalent of water: guilt. She doesn’t want or need this. Neither of us does.
I’m going to take my beer and walk away. Then I notice the globule of cake batter on her cheek.
‘You have, ah…’ I indicate on my own cheek with my finger the spot where she needs to wipe. She rubs her hand across the wrong cheek.
‘I’ve got it.’ I put a bottle down on the counter and run my thumb over the batter.
