Her face is free of makeup, she’s wearing glasses, and I’ve never thought she looked more beautiful.
She pulls the towel off her head, her damp, wavy hair falling around her shoulders. “And don’t even try to pretend you weren’t.”
“Okay,” I admit, setting my iPad down. “I was looking at your shorts under that t-shirt.”
She scoffs. “It’s a big t-shirt,” she mutters, plaiting her hair into a loose braid. “Men’s large.”
“An old boyfriend’s?” I try to make it sound casual, but the question comes out too fast. I can’t even stomach the thought of her wearing a shirt that belonged to another man.
“No,” she says, slightly annoyed now. “Eli’s.”
“Oh,” I say, pretending I already assumed as much.
“And what is wrong with my shorts?” There’s an edge in her tone as she finishes her braid.
“Nothing,” I stammer, trying to come up with a better excuse than the real one—that her legs look amazing in them. “I was just noticing they had hearts on them.”
She looks at me in bewilderment. “So?”
“I just thought…they were cute.”
“Cute.” Her tone is flat as her gaze turns sharp. “Brendan Marco, are you making fun of me?”
“No, I promise!” I say, holding up my hands. “I just think it’s ironic, given the situation. Two people who don’t want to be in the same room…and you’re wearing heart pajamas.”
Her lips press into a line as she picks up her phone. Clearly, she doesn’t see the humor in it. Her gaze slides over me, like she’s just noticed that I’m not wearing a shirt. “Please tell me you’re wearing more than a bed sheet.”
“I’m wearing exactly what I always wear to sleep,” I say, knowing just how to rile her up.
“Brendan Marco, that is not an answer!” She throws a pillow my way.
I dodge it easily. “They’re shorts, Rossi. Do you want to inspect them yourself?” I throw off the sheet to model them, but she raises a hand before I get up.
“I don’t need proof, thanks.” Her eyes flick back to her screen as her thumb scrolls aimlessly. “You better find some more sleep clothes to wear tomorrow. And maybe a t-shirt too. I like my room cold at night.” She tosses a smirk my way, and I get the feeling it’s a cover. For some reason, she’s not comfortable with me wearing only shorts.
“That’s perfect, actually,” I say agreeably. “I love the cold. Unless you have a hard time?—”
Her gaze darts down my chest, before it snaps back up, her jaw clenching slightly. “I…don’t have a hard time with the cold,” she says haltingly.
“Oh, good.” I smirk. “Because I hate to sweat at night. Can you turn the thermostat way down?”
She blinks, then throws off her sheet. “Well, as long as you don’t get chilled.” She pauses before reaching toward the thermostat on the wall, those shorts peeking out from under her t-shirt.
“I can handle it if you can,” I add smugly.
Her face wavers before she says weakly, “Of course I can handle it.”
I want to see if this is truly about the thermostat or whether this is about…something else,something that has to do with me.
She adjusts the temperature, then looks around the room. “Did you see if there are any extra blankets around?”
I narrow my eyes. “I thought you liked it cold.”
“I do!” she says brightly, then gestures at my sheet. “I just thought you might need one.”
“Oh no,” I say firmly. “I usually sleep without a shirt because I run hot. So thank you, but I will not be needing an extra blanket.”
She blinks several times, looking away, her cheeks flushing the same shade as the hearts on her shorts. “Oh, good.” Hervoice is slightly strangled now. “I just wouldn’t want you to be…uncomfortable.”