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It isn’t fair he just…does that. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this living arrangement if he keeps flaunting his physique like some Aussie Magic Mike. Every time he walks into a room, that giddy, stupid energy surges up in my gut all over again.
It doesn’t help that I’ve made myself come to fantasies of him almost every night.
The reminder brings heat to my cheeks while at the same time puckering my nipples. Great. Where is that bra when you need it?
“Morning,” Jack says, turning to face me.
“Morning.”
He pours granola into a bowl of plain yogurt, then drizzles honey on top, licking some excess from his finger while meeting my eyes.
“Did you know your nipples are poking out of that shirt?” he says helpfully.
Oh my God.
“Your observation is noted,” I grumble. “Perv.”
“Just saying.”
“Say it quietly and in your head next time,” I suggest in a saccharine tone.
Jack chuckles and shoves yogurt in his mouth.
“Apparently Australians need to take some etiquette lessons from the Brits,” I add, rolling my eyes at him.
“We’re a very vocal bunch,” he agrees. “If you think I’ve no filter, you should meet my older brother Charlie. Chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome, that one. And our eldest brother, Noah, holds the record for getting his teeth knocked out at bars for talking shit.”
I furrow my brow. “How many siblings do you have?”
“One sister and three brothers.”
“Wow. That’s a lot. You’re saying there are three other Hot Jacks walking around— ” I stop, cursing myself when I realize what I’d said.
A half smile curves his lips. “Hot Jacks?”
My cheeks are on fire.
The grin widens. “You think I’m hot, do you, Abbey?” he drawls.
“Shut up. You know you are.”
He props his hip against the counter and drags a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Honestly? Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”
I stare at him. “You’re fucking with me.”
He bites his lower lip. There’s something very vulnerable in the way he’s—
“Yeah, I’m fucking with you,” he confirms, that brash glint returning to his expression. “Most women agree with that assessment.”
“Cocky much?” I try to distract from my red cheeks and thundering pulse by pretending this has all been a bit of banter.
He brings his bowl over to lean across the breakfast counter where I sit. “Hey, you’re the one going on and on about my good looks.”
That devastating smile should be a war crime. In fact, no man should be so handsome and charming at once. Like, one or the other, buddy. Save something for the rest of the guys.
“G’morning.” Jamie strolls in looking all shiny and new.
It’s remarkable how well he cleans up after a night out. No puffy eyes or signs of a hangover. Still manages to make a T-shirt and jeans look couture. He’s got a runway model build and effortless cool. It’s very annoying.
