I clear my throat. “I’d still choose the Nutella. It’s the most rational decision.”
“Tell you what: Why don’t we call Noah over here and slather some Nutella on his toes? If you lick it all off, I’ll streak at the next game.”
“You would never.”
“Not normally, but I always keep my promises. So if you do yours, you know I’ll do mine.”
I eye my Nutella sandwich, then think about Noah’s toes.
“Fine. You’re right. I’d rather streak.”
“So we both choose being naked. Clearly it’s the better choice.”
Aiden. Naked. I think my senses would go into overload.
“We’re talking hypothetically, though.”
Aiden knows exactly where my mind has gone, and naturally, has to tease me about it. “Does the thought of me naked make you nervous, Thea?”
Hell, yes. “Of course not.”
He looks at me skeptically, and I don’t blame him; I didn’t even believe me.
“I think you’re lying.”
Obviously. “Am not!”
Ever since we arrived at the beach house, it’s been apparent to everyone that Aiden hasn’t been as burdened as before. His spirits are lighter, and he’s in a playful mood more often than not. Knowing that he’s letting his guard down is one of the most heartwarming things. I can’t help but get butterflies every time I look at him goofing off, being a teenager, letting loose. He’s still Aiden, scary as ever and not someone you’d want to piss off, but he smiles quicker here, laughs more freely.
To me, he says, “Should we call your bluff?”
“But it’s not a bl—”
Jesus Christ.
Aiden has just casually pulled off his shirt, and is now sitting here in all his muscly, godlike glory, totally letting my reaction inflate his ego.
“You sure you’re not uncomfortable with me being naked?”
Forcing my eyes away from his abs, I make some kind of noise in agreement. He smiles at me, a mischievous gleam in his usually stormy eyes.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I just …”
Instead of finishing his statement, he stands up, and slowly undoes the top button of his jeans. My eyes bulge out of my head. Dear God, is he actually going to get naked?!
He answers my silent question by slowly lowering his zipper, keeping eye contact with me the entire time. I sit silent. Frozen.
What is happening?!
He hooks his thumbs into his jeans and black boxers, raising an eyebrow at me. He wouldn’t. Just as he’s about to throw down his pants and Calvin Kleins in one fluid motion, I throw my hands over my face. “Okay, okay! You win! Stop getting naked!”
He laughs and sits back on the bed, not bothering to zip up his jeans or put his shirt back on. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s kind of hard to think with him being all effortlessly gorgeous.
“If you were uncomfortable, you should’ve just said something,” he teases, sitting closer than he was originally.
I finish my sandwich. “If I just started getting naked, would you not get uncomfortable?”
He blinks at me. “You literally just described the opposite of what I would consider a problem. But if you want to find out, you can always just start getting naked.”