He’s sort of like me in the mess department.
Not really surprising given we have other things in common as well.
“What the fuck —”
I spin around at his voice. “Are these your office clothes?”
He snaps his mouth shut and I’m not going to lie, I’m loving that.
He loves interrupting me, doesn’t he? So now it’s his turn.
Although Iamcurious to know as well.
In all the time I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a button-down shirt. He usually wears a t-shirt or a soccer jersey or one of those loose workout vests. The latter ones I’ve always hated the most because they’re very sexy, exposing his bulging biceps and sleek and cut obliques. But now that I’m seeing him in a dress shirt, I have to say that maybe a shirt is what I hate the most.
Because the way the cotton fabric clings to his broad shoulders and his chest is beyond sexy.
It’s criminal.
His top few buttons are open, exposing a large patch of his clavicles and that sculpted chest, and his sleeves are folded up to his elbows, showing off his corded forearms. Not to mention, the light color highlights how summery his skin is.
How even though he’s wearing something as civilized and respectable as a dress shirt, he’s anything but.
But then again, no one could ever mistake him for a young boardroom mogul.
Not with his face still black and blue.
He’s actually gotten a few new bruises as well; we’re gonna talk about that in a second.
When I’m done looking him over, I go back to his face.
And yup, he’s still frowning.
Although his confusion has cleared and it looks like he’s waiting for my cues —good— with his hands shoved down in his pockets and his reddish-brown eyes pinned on me.
I raise my eyebrows. “Well? Are they? Because that’s all anyone can talk about at the manor. You working with your brother.”
It’s true.
It’s a very hot topic these days.
Something moves across his features then. “You graduated.”
And I realize that that something is admiration. Happiness even.
On my behalf.
The fact that I didn’t even have to remind him about my finals and that he deduced it from my offhand comment about the manor, makes me want to smack him.
For what he did two weeks ago.
For how cruel he was when we always seem to be so in tune with each other.
As it is, all I do is lift my chin and say, “Yes, I did.”
His lips curl up into a small smile. “You’re free.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”