Fact: He’s really pissing me off. I mean, hello? I’m trying to get back in the saddle, but I’ll never manage to get a boyfriend before the age of fifty if he keeps this up.
Fact: Secretly, I wonder what it would be like if he weren’t gay. Why do all the hot, sweet, tender-hearted guys have to be gay?
Fact: My gay-dar needs a serious tune-up.
Ry
Fact: I’m in love with my roommate.
Fact: I’m a likely candidate for carpal tunnel surgery since all the action I’ve had for the past year has been my hand.
Fact: She’s going to hate me if I come clean now.
Fact: I’m not giving up. Which means, I’ll just have to continue to run defense until I figure out a way to get Maggie to see the “real” me.
The me that loves her.
The me that would never do her wrong.
Until then, I’ll keep running off every guy who shows any interest.
Until then, I’ll continue to Clam Jam.
My eyes are riveted.
He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and I don’t even realize I’m moving until Ry releases a sharp hiss at my touch. Because my finger is tracing over the slight indentations in his abdominal muscles.
“Um …” He clears his throat, his voice husky and deep. “Mags?”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur absently, my fingertip stopping one of the trickling droplets of water on his skin, tracing it down over his belly button, and—
His fingers grasp my wrist, drawing my hand to a halt, and my eyes dart up to his in alarm because crap. That was like an out-of-body experience.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I just really, um … crap.” That’s all I can utter. Nonsense. No one would believe I have my graduate degree if they heard me right now.
If my tongue had a voice of its own, it would probably say something like, “Just the tip. That’s all I want.” The tip of my tongue tracing over Ry’s abs, that is. You know, just to prove someone Photoshopped him. Or not.
Because I’ll take one for the team. I’m a giver like that. People might even think of canonizing me as a saint after all this. Really.
Oh, and then … Abracadabra! Poof! He’d no longer be gay, profess his undying love for me, and wouldn’t ever leave me for another guy.
Or woman.
Wow. That scenario even sounds crazy in my head.
Shaking off my thoughts, I take one more glance down at his abs—just one more glance—and that’s when I see it.
“Oh, boy,” I breathe out. Ry is hard, tenting the towel, and I really want it to drop. Accidentally, of course. Like an “oops” moment. Totally harmless and innocent.
Oh. My. God. I’m a horrible person. I’m thinking of my roommate’s penis! My roommate who has quickly become one of my best friends.
Oh, the shame!
Where did this inner slut come from? It’s like she’s been lying in wait—for him, apparently.
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