She also wasn’t going to glower at her reflection while she stripped and tried to figure out why he found it so easy to dismiss her after such earth-rocking sex. At least on her end. And his too, she was almost positive, even if he would never admit it.
Soaping and shampooing and standing under brutally hot water for the better part of an hour eased some of her annoyance, though none of her frustration. She got out, wrapped herself in a giant plush towel that smelled of citrus and opened the door.
To Chase.
Instead of commenting on her state of near-nudity, he peered over her shoulder at the clothes-strewn floor. “Are you incapable of picking up after yourself? Or not using all the hot water?” He waved a hand at the steam that flowed out of the bathroom.
Cocking her head, she gave him a bright smile. “Nope.” She let the towel fall before sidling past him—with full body contact, of course.
She marched into his bedroom and yanked open a dresser drawer. The obnoxious ass was going to get it. Just as soon as she sorted through all the neat piles of boxers and shorts to find a T-shirt.
Finding a suitable choice, she pulled it out and tugged it over her head. The hem fell to above her knees. Perfect. She wouldn’t accost anyone with the unseemly sight of her upper thighs.
God, and he called her church girl? She’d seen priests who behaved less prudishly than Chase was at the moment.
The floorboards creaked near the door and she whirled, prepared to do battle. “Look, Dixon, we fucked. I know it traumatized you, but can we act like adults? I won’t try to maul you in your sleep, I promise.”
She didn’t expect him to laugh or to drag his hands through his hair. His wet hair. How had he managed to take a shower in under three minutes flat?
Slowly, her gaze drifted from his water-sprinkled shoulders to his ripped torso and down to the towel precariously hitched on his hips. Suddenly she wasn’t so irritated anymore. It was hard to be mad when facing more than six feet of pure, damp lusciousness.
And eight or nine inches of that were particularly memorable.
It was only then that she realized his mouth was moving. Whoops. “Sorry, what did you say?”
His lips twitched as he gestured toward the bed. “Sit down for a second. Please,” he added when she hesitated.
She climbed the steps to the bed and perched on the edge of the firm mattress—the bed was immaculately made once again—and tugged his shirt down until she was sufficiently covered. He blinked, obviously just realizing she’d borrowed his clothes. “That’s mine.”
“Yes, Sherlock. I don’t usually wear Daggers shirts. Only on special occasions.” Smirking, she patted the bed. “C’mon, sit. Then we’ll get some sleep so you’ll be ready for your early appointment. How early in the morning is it?”
“Eight.” He sat, giving her a moment to appreciate the colorful playing card tattoo on his left shoulder blade before he shifted awkwardly toward her. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. It affects you, so I shouldn’t keep it from you any longer. Tonight’s show proved that to me.” He adjusted the knot of his towel, not looking at her. Making her worry because he wouldn’t. “I’m seeing a doctor tomorrow morning. He doesn’t normally take Sunday patients, but he’s doing me a favor.”
“Oh God.” He cut his gaze to hers and she bit her lip. Great. She sucked at handling emotionally sensitive situations. “I mean, okay. Um, yes. Thank you for sharing.” She turned away to pull at the comforter. She’d crawl onto her side of the bed, roll over and let the poor terminal man sleep. “Uh, good night then.”
Yet again he laughed. The sound was so foreign that she looked back at him, sure she was recalling happier memories of a simpler time. The Chase she knew now hardly ever laughed so freely. “Aren’t you going to ask what’s wrong?”
“No. As long as it’s not a sexually transmitted disease, it’s not my business.” The light in his eyes flickered before fading completely. She groaned and shut her own. “I’m going to stop talking permanently. I can’t say anything right.”
He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. The sensation of his callused palm rubbing over hers startled her eyes right back open, but he didn’t appear to notice her staring. “Us starting up anything would be a mistake for a number of reasons, not the least of which is my physical situation. I hope you can understand.”
“Well, since I didn’t know a thing about your health until just now, no, I didn’t.” She waited a beat and tried to calm her racing pulse. Odds were good he wasn’t dying. She hoped. “And actually, no, I don’t understand. I won’t until you tell me what’s going on. Otherwise I’ll have to point out you already did start something with me. You did, Chase, not vice versa.”
“You were crying.”
“So you had to give me a sex-cookie to make me feel better?”
His laughter made her smile. God, she loved that sound. It was like summer days and making love—fine, fucking—and blue raspberry cotton candy all rolled into one. “No. I’m saying I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. Add in the leftover adrenaline rush from seeing that dickwad throw a glass at you earlier and I was off my game.”
“He didn’t throw it at me. He threw it on stage. Because that’s what drunk people do.” Only once the words were out did she remember she was talking to a member of AA. God, she needed to sleep. Forever. “I didn’t mean—I meant
—”
The fingers around hers squeezed. “I know. That’s why I don’t drink anymore. That, and other reasons.” His exhale reminded her of air steadily leaking out of a tire. “You’re beautiful and so talented and—”
“And you’re not interested in having sex with me again.” She nodded briskly. “I understand.”
“It’s not that simple. We’re friends.”