In the bathroom, I turn the shower to hot and strip out of my pajamas as my thoughts unravel at the realization that it’s Monday and I have to attend my public speaking class again.
I spent what was left of my weekend—that wasn’t devoted to lasagna making—reading the required chapters for the class that discussed the significance and history of public speaking. It was surprisingly interesting, fascinating even, and for mere seconds I channeled the energy that had been transcribed across the pages and imagined myself delivering a speech that would inspire investors in a board meeting—but that idea died a quick death when I imagined wheeling office chairs, extension cords, and all the stats I’d likely forget.
I’m debating my future role with my family’s company as I step into the shower and silently scream as icy water sluices over my back and shoulders, touching every part of me all at once. I scramble to the far end of the shower, splaying myself against the wall so the water can’t reach me as I check to ensure I turned the lever to hot. Goose bumps prickle my skin as I reach forward, and push the lever as far left as it will go, but the water only turns tepid, not even warm.
Begrudgingly, I slink into the water, taking the world’s fastest shower.
Goose bumps still pebble my skin and I’m shivering so hard my teeth clang as I towel myself dry. Once dressed, I blow dry my hair to help warm up.
I still feel chilled and am wearing a chip on my shoulder big enough for our landlord to trip over as I head downstairs, prepared to beg, plead, or threaten someone to come out so I don’t have to endure another polar plunge when I run face first into a wall of thinly veiled muscle.
Someone grips my biceps to steady me as I gasp, fear replacing my anger as I wrestle myself free and jump back, calling on every fight-or-flight instinct I have.
“It’s just me.” Nolan’s voice takes an extra second to register, and still, I reach forward to flip on the light to ensure it's him.
“God. You just scared a year off of my life,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you turn on any lights? I thought you were an intruder. I almost hit you.”
He smirks, but his eyes are laughing outright. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
I shake my head and take another step back to gain space. Everything about Nolan feels like a dare wrapped in a warning. “Next time, just turn on the lights. You won’t wake anyone. Hannah sleeps like the dead and Katie practically lives at Carsen’s.”
He angles his head, the same note of humor flashing in his eyes. “What about you?”
“It won’t bother me.”
Nolan doesn’t reply, his smirk a permanent fixture. He’s wearing a backward baseball hat this morning that hides his perfect hair. The loss makes his eyes stand out even more. They’re greener this morning due to the dark green tee he’s wearing. His long lashes are the same dark blond shade as his hair, but it’s his jaw and flawless mouth that demand my full attention.
“You’re up early,” he says, and it takes me several seconds to hear the words because I’m too busy studying his mouth.
I clear my throat and blink several times before forcing myself to look away from him. “I was just coming downstairs to contact the rental company. Our water heater is broken.”
Nolan winces. “Actually, it’s not. Katie said you guys wouldn’t be awake until after six, so I took a long shower.”
“You usedallthe hot water?” I accuse. “How long were you in there?”
He smiles like the cat that caught the canary, making heat creep into my cheeks because with just a look he’s hinted at possibly defiling our shower and I have no idea how to respond or if I think this is gross.
He’s a stranger.
A stranger who might have gotten himself off in my shower.
It should be gross. It should be disgusting.
“What’s that look?” he asks one side of his mouth curling with a smile.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
His gaze is intense and purposeful as he grins. I’m confident he knows exactly what I suspect. “If you tell me your schedule, I’ll be sure to leave hot water, next time.”
I shake my head. “I’m not usually up this early.” And I won’t ever be using the downstairs shower again. The silent thought propagates more, and suddenly I’m imagining Nolan naked in the shower, stroking himself, that flawless mouth eased open from pleasure.
“Are you studying to be a chef?” Nolan asks, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.
“Sorry?”
“Food something?”
I furrow my brow with confusion.