I’d just rest for one minute, then get moving.
I rolled over and fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, my phone rested on the pillow next to my cheek, the 8:30 a.m. time display glaring at me accusingly.
Crap! I’d lost half an hour.
Rolling out of bed, I ran over to my bags, still packed. I’d had plenty of time to get organized yesterday, but as much as I wanted to impose on Nick to teach him a lesson, I couldn’t bring myself to yank his stuff out of drawers to make room for mine. I’d made a pitiful excuse for a snoop, spending most of my time surfing the web on his computer in the hopes of finding some scholarship or grant opportunity I’d overlooked and crying over my hopeless future.
Grabbing the first pair of shorts and T-shirt I could find, along with underclothes that in no way, shape or form would match (I was fairly certain I’d be totally humiliated if ever in a hostage situation that required me to undress), I hustled into the hall and made a beeline for the bathroom door.
And choked on my tongue.
Nick frickin’ Espinoza stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his face lathered with shaving cream. If he looked good all dry and put together, he looked even better with damp hair sticking up in little waves and his caramel skin beaded with moisture.
Before I could stop myself, my gaze slipped down. He was wearing a towel — thank all that is holy! — but was still displaying way too much skin for my heart’s well-being.
“Nick!” I screeched, and his hand jumped at the noise, nicking his upper cheek. His gaze flew up to meet mine in the mirror. “You don’t live alone anymore!”
He winced and blotted at the cut with a piece of toilet paper.
There was something about watching him shave that freaked me out. It was oddly intimate, and emphasized his masculinity in a way I didn’t want to contemplate. I preferred to think of Nick as an annoying boy rather than a full-fledged man.
He didn’t respond to my screeching other than to give me a perplexed look. He carefully began another stroke, his eyes darting between watching what he was doing and catching my gaze in the mirror.
“You could close the door,” I said dryly. “What if I’d walked in while you were still in the shower?”
His lips curved up in a small smile. My cheeks went hot. I could practically hear his thoughts by the mischievous look in his eyes.
He rinsed the razor in the sink, and grabbed a towel to blot his face.
“The mirror was fogged up, and I needed some air,” he said smoothly. He turned around and a grin spread across his face. “Nice jammies.”
I glanced down at the oversized T-shirt I was wearing sporting a moping Eeyore on the front and blushed. Not because of Eeyore; Eeyore and I are like soul mates. But because it stopped high on my thigh, and I suddenly became too aware of the fact I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I crossed my arms over my chest, and gave him a look.
“You got a problem with my ass?”
Nick’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. For a few seconds, he looked like a floundering fish.
Then he got the joke.
Snorting a laugh, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you almost got me on that one.”
I blinked at him innocently, and he looked uncertain. “Um, that was a joke, right? Because of Eeyore. I mean, I think he’s a donkey. Or a mule. I was never sure. But I wasn’t— I didn’t even look …” he stuttered.
I laughed at the look of discomfort on his face. “Yeah, Nick. Because of Eeyore. I know you’re not looking.”
He recovered quickly. “I mean, I can take a look if you want to turn around. I’m a guy. My eyes will find their way there eventually.”
Great .
First, I’d brought up my ass, as if looking for compliments. And now the guy was offering to check me out to be nice. Having a guy offer to ogle you out of a sense of chivalry was just too pathetic.
I tried to hide my blush by pushing past him into the room and dumping my
I rolled over and fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, my phone rested on the pillow next to my cheek, the 8:30 a.m. time display glaring at me accusingly.
Crap! I’d lost half an hour.
Rolling out of bed, I ran over to my bags, still packed. I’d had plenty of time to get organized yesterday, but as much as I wanted to impose on Nick to teach him a lesson, I couldn’t bring myself to yank his stuff out of drawers to make room for mine. I’d made a pitiful excuse for a snoop, spending most of my time surfing the web on his computer in the hopes of finding some scholarship or grant opportunity I’d overlooked and crying over my hopeless future.
Grabbing the first pair of shorts and T-shirt I could find, along with underclothes that in no way, shape or form would match (I was fairly certain I’d be totally humiliated if ever in a hostage situation that required me to undress), I hustled into the hall and made a beeline for the bathroom door.
And choked on my tongue.
Nick frickin’ Espinoza stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his face lathered with shaving cream. If he looked good all dry and put together, he looked even better with damp hair sticking up in little waves and his caramel skin beaded with moisture.
Before I could stop myself, my gaze slipped down. He was wearing a towel — thank all that is holy! — but was still displaying way too much skin for my heart’s well-being.
“Nick!” I screeched, and his hand jumped at the noise, nicking his upper cheek. His gaze flew up to meet mine in the mirror. “You don’t live alone anymore!”
He winced and blotted at the cut with a piece of toilet paper.
There was something about watching him shave that freaked me out. It was oddly intimate, and emphasized his masculinity in a way I didn’t want to contemplate. I preferred to think of Nick as an annoying boy rather than a full-fledged man.
He didn’t respond to my screeching other than to give me a perplexed look. He carefully began another stroke, his eyes darting between watching what he was doing and catching my gaze in the mirror.
“You could close the door,” I said dryly. “What if I’d walked in while you were still in the shower?”
His lips curved up in a small smile. My cheeks went hot. I could practically hear his thoughts by the mischievous look in his eyes.
He rinsed the razor in the sink, and grabbed a towel to blot his face.
“The mirror was fogged up, and I needed some air,” he said smoothly. He turned around and a grin spread across his face. “Nice jammies.”
I glanced down at the oversized T-shirt I was wearing sporting a moping Eeyore on the front and blushed. Not because of Eeyore; Eeyore and I are like soul mates. But because it stopped high on my thigh, and I suddenly became too aware of the fact I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I crossed my arms over my chest, and gave him a look.
“You got a problem with my ass?”
Nick’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. For a few seconds, he looked like a floundering fish.
Then he got the joke.
Snorting a laugh, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you almost got me on that one.”
I blinked at him innocently, and he looked uncertain. “Um, that was a joke, right? Because of Eeyore. I mean, I think he’s a donkey. Or a mule. I was never sure. But I wasn’t— I didn’t even look …” he stuttered.
I laughed at the look of discomfort on his face. “Yeah, Nick. Because of Eeyore. I know you’re not looking.”
He recovered quickly. “I mean, I can take a look if you want to turn around. I’m a guy. My eyes will find their way there eventually.”
Great .
First, I’d brought up my ass, as if looking for compliments. And now the guy was offering to check me out to be nice. Having a guy offer to ogle you out of a sense of chivalry was just too pathetic.
I tried to hide my blush by pushing past him into the room and dumping my
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