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“Thanks,” I say, staring at his shoulder.
“The bathroom is there.” He points at it as if I wouldn’t have noticed it two feet away. “And I’ll be there if you need anything.” He points down the hall at the closed door on the right.
He sleeps in there.
My heart skips a beat. I don’t trust my voice, so I bob my head up and down. Then I slip into the guest room and shut the door firmly behind me.
I stand still, staring at the bed. I could still leave. My car is parked in the garage below, so I wouldn’t even have to clean off the snow. I’m a competent driver, and there wouldn’t be much traffic on the road. The highways might even be cleared. I could make it home unscathed. I could also slide off the road and spend the night huddled in my front seat, waiting for help. It isn’t worth the risk.
I’m being foolish because I’ve never been so attracted to another person in my life. He’s sweet and kind. And famous.
I let out a sigh as I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the closet door. I take off my sparkly shirt. Underneath is a tank top and a bra. I yank the bra off but keep the tank on. It’s not the warmest sleepwear, but it’ll work for the night.
I start to tug off my damp jeans when there’s a knock on the door. I freeze like I’m in a bad horror film, one foot in the air, pants partway down my hips.
“Elle.” Slater’s voice easily carries through the closed door.
“Ummm…yes?” My voice is barely a squeak.
I yank up my jeans and slip over to the closed door, then slowly pull it open an inch. Slater holds up a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “For sleeping.”
My face flames. I try to think of the last time I slept in a man’s shirt, but I come up empty. Is it possible I’ve never slept in a man’s shirt before? “Thank you.”
I slide the door open just far enough to yank the clothes through. My behavior would be appropriate if I were naked, but jeans that are unzipped hardly qualify as scandalous.
A brief smile lights his face as I push the door closed.
My heart thuds in my chest as I pull on his sweatpants. They’re hardly big on me. It isn’t much of an ego boost to comfortably fit in his pants. A lifetime of watching movies has taught me two undeniable facts. First, anytime a woman dons a man’s shirt, it hangs to her knees, and second, even when she pulls the elastic tight on his sweatpants, they will barely stay up.
I’m disappointed when this isn’t the case with Slater’s clothes. Sure, the shirt is baggy, but it barely covers my ass. And the pants—let’s just say I don’t have to pull the strings much tighter.
Wearing his clothes isn’t as intimate as I expected. They smell like laundry detergent. And while the shirt is soft and snuggly, it doesn’t inspire lust. Somehow, putting on his clothes shakes me out of my strange stupor where spending the night in his apartment felt meaningful.
After I sneak across the hall to brush my teeth, I crawl between crisp, clean sheets. To my complete surprise, I fall asleep within minutes.
THIRTEEN
ELLIE
Seemingly seconds after I drift off, my cell phone vibrates on the nightstand. How does vibrate always manage to be louder than the actual ringer?
I reach for it without opening my eyes and swipe my finger across the screen.
“Where are you?” Kelsey asks as soon as I answer.
“Umm…” How does she know I’m not at home? “I was sleeping.”
“Sleeping where?”
I swallow and try to deflect. “Why are you checking where I am?”
“Just habit, I guess. I have to be up early for a shoot.”
I have no idea what time it is, but it’s still dark outside the window.
“It’s kind of creepy that you check where I am when you wake up,” I say, disgruntled.
“I don’t do it every day. If you didn’t want me checking up on you, you wouldn’t allow me to access your location from my phone.” Her voice sounds reasonable, but her words…not so much.
