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A sardonic laugh leaves her lips as she sets the bottle down and crosses her arms over her chest, unintentionally pushing her breasts up in the process, allowing the towel a slight gape at the top.
“Well, you’ve told me enough times—excuse me for believing you.”
She starts to walk away, but I reach my hand out to grab hers. Hannah pauses and doesn’t look at me, but also doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t think that,” I say quietly, repeating myself in a near-whisper.
A moment of silence passes, her eyes pinned on the wall to her side, anything to avoid looking back at me.
“Hannah, I—”
“Well,” she says, yanking her hand from my grasp, refusing to look at me, “it’s semantics, because believe it or not, Park, I couldn’t care less what you think of me.”
With that, she saunters away, her shampoo bottle still balancing on the edge of the kitchen table.
A few moments pass.
I don’t know why I do what I do next, but my feet are moving of their own volition before I get the chance to stop myself, her shampoo in hand.
Steam flows from below the bathroom door and through the small crack left in the door, allowing light to seep into the otherwise dark hallway.
Despite my brain telling me to walk away, screaming at me that this is a bad idea and to go back outside and finish watching the game with Sage, I stay.
Hannah drops her towel and my eyes rake over the soft, tanned expanse of her skin. My mouth grows dry, but I can’t look away. I’ve never noticed the clear dip of her waist, herhips sloping downward to quite possibly the most perfectly apple-shaped ass I’ve ever seen. Her tan lines from the waning summer take me back to a distant time when the thought of me touching her didn’t cause her skin to crawl.
She climbs into the shower, the frosted glass only traveling up to around her belly button, leaving me with a view of her from the waist up. I’m unsure why I’m still standing in the doorway, peeking through the small crack in the door without concern of being caught.
Is that a tattoo?
“Shit.” Hannah exhales, looking around the shower to realize she left the new bottle of shampoo in the kitchen. She reaches up to shut off the water, grabbing her towel from the hook just outside the shower.
I back away, darting down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as I can before I set the unopened bottle on the kitchen table.
In an attempt to get back out to the balcony before Hannah comes out here looking for her shampoo, I reach into the fridge haphazardly, grabbing two fresh beers from the top shelf, not worrying to check the label.
Thankfully, I make it outside just as I hear Hannah venture back into the kitchen. I hold the extra can out to Sage and am met by a puzzled expression looking up at me.
“Liam.”
“What?”
“That’s a Sprite.”
It’s then I realize I am holding two bright green soda cans in lieu of the beer I’d gone in for.
“Oh, I, uh, figured we could switch it up.”
“Very funny, go get me a beer.” She laughs, her eyes drifting back to the television, the score now 2-3 Braves. It’sthe bottom of the fourth inning, making me realize just how much of the game I’ve missed already. The hot day has grown cooler as the sun sinks below the skyline.
A mosquito bites my arm, causing me to slap it, squashing it against my tanned skin. Brushing it away, I turn on my heels, relieved to find a Hannah-less kitchen upon my return.
I let out a sigh, pulling two fresh cans of what I am 100% sure is beer from the fridge, stepping in a small puddle of water in front of the table.
Fucking Hannah.
TWELVE
HANNAH
