I peel my T-shirt over my head.
Summer’s green eyes widen. Appreciation heats her expression, and damned if that doesn’t inflate my ego like a helium balloon. It only gets bigger when she lets out a breathy noise that speaks directly to my dick.
“I love your tattoos,” she informs me.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her gaze is glued to my naked torso. Holy shit, if she keeps looking at me like that, I might not be able to stop myself from touching her. It’s already been a Herculean effort for me to draw her every night without giving in to every carnal urge that’s begging me to fuck her.
But I can’t. Not unless she makes the first move. I already blew my chance thanks to my behavior on New Year’s. My hypercritical words had hurt her, and just because she’d accepted my apology doesn’t mean I can assume she’s into me now. The fact that she referred to us as “best friends” is probably a good indication of where I stand.
I’ve been friend-zoned.
“Permission to approach the chest?”
A hasty laugh pops out. “Permission granted?”
She steps forward for a closer examination of the ink on my arms and chest. “Did you design these yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“My God, Fitz. You’re so good.”
Embarrassment creeps up my throat. I don’t take compliments well. Never have. So I make a noncommittal sound that hopefully she interprets as a thank you.
“You’re really into the fantasy imagery, huh?” She focuses on my left biceps. “This sword is badass. Is it based on Sir Nornan’s glass sword in The Glass Forest? No, wait, the sword doesn’t show up until the third book.”
“Weeping Devils,” I confirm, naming another title in the Shifting Winds series. Nerves make me pause, because I don’t want to rock the boat again. “Which one is your favorite?” I quickly add, “It’s not a trick question, I promise. I know you read them.”
“If you want to get technical, I didn’t read them—I listened to the audiobooks. I’m obsessed with audiobooks,” she reveals. “And to answer your question, I’d have to go with the first book. First book is always the best.”
“Agreed.”
She touches something on my shoulder. “Ohhh, this is so pretty. This cluster of roses.” Her impish gaze lifts to mine. “Not very manly,” she teases.
I’m too distracted to respond or take offense, because her fingertips are still tracing my bare flesh. Air gets trapped in my throat. The sweet scent of her shampoo tickles my nose, along with a hint of her signature perfume.
I find myself asking, “What perfume is that?”
“Chanel No. 5.” Her lips curve in a smile. “The only scent a lady should ever own.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
My body weeps from the loss of contact when she withdraws her hand. “Enough chit-chatting, Fitzy. Put this on.”
The next thing I know, she’s shoving the sweater over my head. I feel like a child as I slide my arms into the sleeves and poke my head through the neck hole. I swear Summer’s fingernails scrape my abdomen as she drags the shirt down.
A shiver races up my spine. I’m turned on.
Like, really turned on.
Shit, and now I have to take my pants off, and I’m wearing boxer-briefs that perfectly outline my cock. She’s totally going to notice.
Ding.
Summer’s phone chimes with an incoming text. Oh, thank you, Jesus. As she turns to check the message, I hastily kick my sweatpants off and slide into the crisp black trousers. Making sure her gaze is occupied, I do a quick rearrange of the dick region so it’s not as pokey. When Summer turns back to me, I hope I resemble a man who isn’t harder than granite.
She whistles softly. “Oh, I like this, Fitz. It’s super sharp. Here, look.” She angles the closet door so I’m able to see my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I’m pleasantly surprised. I clean up nice. “Sweet,” I say. “Let’s go with this.”
I register her disbelieving expression in the mirror. Then she barks out a laugh. “Colin,” she says between giggles. “Are you always this naïve?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “What do you mean?”
“It means this is the first outfit you’ve tried on.” She pats my arm as she brushes past me, chuckling under her breath. “We’re just getting started.”
“Started with what?” comes a suspicious voice.
We turn to find Hunter in the doorway.
A thread of discomfort wraps around my insides. Hunter’s been keeping his distance from me since Sunday night. He hasn’t stated outright that the Spin the Bottle thing pissed him off, but I get the distinct feeling it did.
In my defense, I wasn’t even playing the damn game, and I wouldn’t have kissed Summer at all if Jesse’s bossy girlfriend hadn’t insisted. I know better than to argue with Katie.
Besides, if Hunter’s upset that Summer and I kissed, he can man up and talk to me about it.
“Listen to this,” Summer tells him in an amused voice. “I brought six garment bags of clothes for Fitz to try on. You know, for his interview tomorrow. He’s only tried one outfit.” She points at the Ford and Saint Laurent combo. “And he thinks…” She looks like she’s going to explode with laughter. “He thinks we’re done now.”
I expect Hunter to give her a blank look. But my teammate snickers at me, obviously in on the joke. “Naïve bastard.” He strides into my room and sprawls on the bed. “This is gonna be fun.” He winks at Summer. “Go get Hollis. Tell him to make some popcorn.”
“On it.” She’s already hurrying out the door, yelling, “Mike!”
“Traitor,” I grumble at Hunter.
He merely grins. “You gave an heiress from Connecticut permission to dress you for an interview. You really think I’m going to miss this show?”
I sigh. I guess I could put my foot down and declare this travesty over, but clearly Summer is having fun, and this is the first time in days that Hunter’s actually seemed at ease with me. Maybe I was imagining his aloofness, and he doesn’t care about the kiss at all.
“Listen, about you and Summer,” he hedges.
I spoke too soon.
“She said you’re helping her with her midterm.”
“Mmm-hmmm. I am.” I pretend to be preoccupied with the left sleeve of my sweater, examining it as if it holds all the secrets to the universe.
“And then there was the whole, ah, kiss thing on Sunday.” From the corner of my eye, I see him run his fingers through his dark hair. “So I’m just gonna come out and ask. Is there something between you guys? You hooking up?”
“Naah, we’re not.” Man, this sleeve is damn fascinating. “We’re just friends.”
“You sure about that?”
I force myself to look him in the eye like a mature adult. “In case you forgot, I was walking by minding my own business when that bottle landed on me. Neither of us wanted to follow through, remember?”
“True.” He’s nodding slowly. “You guys did look really uncomfortable.”
Did we?
I try not to frown. Because what I remember is how her lips set my entire body on fire. I remember her tongue rubbing against mine and sending an electric shock straight to my balls. I remember breathing in her addictive scent and almost passing out with need.
But Hunter saw discomfort. Interesting.
Maybe that’s why Summer hasn’t raised the subject of the kiss even once since it happened. Fuck. Am I actually in the friend zone?
“I think she’s awesome, Fitz.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t joking about the whole dibs thing when we got back from Vermont. I’m into her.”
He shoots a glance toward the doorway, as if he’s worried Summer might be standing there. But he relaxes when her and Mike’s laughter echoes from downstairs.
“And I think she’s into me,” he continues. Another shrug. “I mean, we made out on New Year’s. We’ve cuddled.”
They’ve cuddled? The stab of jealousy I feel hurts more than I expect.
“I’m planning on asking her out.” He tips his head, watching me carefully. “Is that going to be a problem?”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Yes, it’s gonna be a problem? What if I did say that? What then? Would we have to duel for Summer’s honor?
“Like I said when we discussed her moving in, as long as it doesn’t affect our lease, I don’t care what you do.” It’s very, very difficult to utter these words, but the alternative would only create problems I’d rather not deal with at the moment.
If Summer was ripping her clothes off and begging me to screw her, maybe my answer would be different.
But she’s not.
17
Fitz
I grew up in the suburbs outside of Boston, so the odds of me ever seeing a tornado were about as good as the chances of my parents getting back together.
This morning, I finally get to witness one.
The tornado’s name is Kamal Jain. He bursts into the hotel bar in a blur of gray and black, offering fleeting glimpses of white teeth and brown skin and stubby fingers that he waves at the server as he flies past her.