Hot coffee hits my chest.
CHAPTER 6
LUNA
Charlie stares at me, mouth agape, eyes wide and pleading, as if he’s begging me to tell him he didn’t just commit a wild blunder.
Again.
But I can’t. The man dumped a good portion of coffee on his blue button-down. The best I can do for him is stifle my laughter and try to get the fabric off his body to keep the heat from burning his skin.
“Here we go. It’s okay.” My fingers tug at his buttons, parting the fabric. I’d push the shirt entirely off if he wasn’t still clutching the French press. “Put that down.”
Charlie blinks once. Twice. Then moves robotically to place the coffee maker on the counter. His hands now free, I guide the shirt off his shoulders and toss the ruined clothing to hang over the side of the sink. Then I grab some paper towels, wetting them down with cool water.
The next part is where things get odd. I should’ve handed Charlie the damp towels so he could wipe himself off.
But no. Instead, my hands gravitate toward his chest, and the next thing I know, I’m running the paper towels over his pecs and down his flat stomach. As if making sure his body is squeaky clean is my responsibility.
There’s a grunt, and I glance up in time to watch his teeth dig into his plump lower lip.
Damn, that mouth is pillowy. Wonder what he can do with it.
The second the dirty, teasing thoughts pass through my mind, they’re followed up by a logical one.
Bad idea.
Charlie is a good man and my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s best friend. Not anything like the bang-and-leave guys I normally hook up with. The ones perfect for a single night, before we part ways in the morning, no questions asked, no awkward conversations. And by morning, I mean a few minutes after we’re done fucking.
I don’t do sleepovers.
Charlie, with his kind smiles and goofy mishaps, has the wordsLifelong Sleepovertattooed across his forehead. Because he’s the best kind of guy.
Time to stop touching the sexy man.
“Guess you should be the one doing this. Sorry. I got so used to bossing my brothers around that I can’t help myself with other people.”
I hold out the paper towels for him to take, and after hesitating, Charlie accepts them.
While he no doubt tries to come to terms with my odd behavior, I quickly pour myself a cup of coffee and put the distance of the small kitchen between us as I settle at the table and peel my banana.
Charlie moves in a dazed manner as he finishes wiping himself off. Then his eyes go to his shirt. He picks the thing up,stares at the giant brown stain, then drapes the shirt over the back of a chair. Like he plans on letting it dry.
Gah, I can’t let it happen. Not when he looked so good in it. Allowing the shirt to be ruined would be like acting as an accomplice to a crime.
“No, wait. Come here.” I’m up from my chair and ushering him over to the sink. “You need to run cold water through the back of the fabric, and hopefully, that’ll get it all out. But if not, you need to rub the spot with dish soap or laundry detergent and cold water. Just don’t let it dry.”
After basically raising Dash on my own, I learned the tricks to remove every kind of stain from clothes. Our clothes needed to last. We didn’t have the money to just go out and buy a new wardrobe whenever we wanted.
Not for us kids anyway.
Charlie follows my instructions while I hover at the sink, biting off chunks of my banana and keeping my eyes on the fabric in his long-fingered hands rather than allowing my eyes to wander up to his exposed chest.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“For what? I’m the one who got in your way and potentially cost you a shirt. Then I stripped you down.”
Charlie chuckles. “Can’t seem to keep my clothes on around you.”