Oh. My. God.
If the floor opened up and she fell through all the way to hell she wouldn’t care. In fact, she wished it would open up and suck her into another realm, because she did not just say--
“My thingy,” Tucker said, his grin huge, his eyes practically dancing.
Abby’s scowl deepened as she slipped off the bed and moved past him, careful to make sure she wasn’t anywhere near his—
“My thingy?” he repeated.
“Well, I don’t know you well enough to call it Hank.”
He snorted.
Jesus! Where was all of this coming from? She’d known Tucker for nearly a year, and he’d never gotten under her skin like this.
He ran his hands through the wet hair that hung down into his eyes and when he pushed it back, his biceps tightened, his abs rippled—hell everything rippled—and for one precarious second, the towel slipped so low that she held her breath.
But then he grabbed the edges, and she blew out a mess of hot air as he chuckled.
“Close call,” he said with a wink. “Nearly had a peek at,” his voice lowered. “I don’t call him Hank. I call him—”
“I don’t want to know.” She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her and leaned back against it, chest heaving, coffee sloshing up and over the mug in her hands.
Tucker Simon was insufferable. He was a smart-ass, and trouble should be his middle name. For all she knew it was. Tucker Trouble Simon. TTS.
She bit her lip and groaned softly.
Oh god was he hot.
And gorgeous.
And totally lickable.
“An hour, Abby.” His voice was muffled through the door.
She stuck out her tongue and then took a good, long swig of coffee before locking the door behind her and turning on the shower.
Tucker’s toiletries were on the counter—a brown leather bag though his toothbrush was left beside it. Something about seeing his stuff next to hers made her insides go all funny again.
Give your head a shake, girl. It’s not as if she’d never shared space with a guy before. Once. In college. For about five minutes.
But the twenty year old Daniel, an aspiring Arts major, was nothing compared to a man like Tucker. Her current ex? He didn’t even come close.
Abby slipped out of her pajamas and decided not to think about any of it. Twenty minutes later, she was blow-drying her hair, eyeing the door because she knew she had to go back out there, and worrying her bottom lip because of it.
Once she was done, she set the dryer onto the counter, careful not to touch any of Tucker’s stuff, and put on some mascara and lip gloss. After studying herself for a moment, she grabbed some liner and applied it. Good. Now her eyes popped without being too overdone.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open an inch or so. Ea
rlier, she’d rushed into the bathroom like an idiot and her bra and underwear were in the walk-in closet, along with a fluffy white robe the hotel provided and everything else she needed.
Widening the crack a bit more, she spoke hesitantly, “Tucker?”
No answer.
“Tucker?” she repeated inching her way out, towel clutched to her chest.
But there was only silence, so Abby crept into the room and once she was past the bed, dashed into the walk-in closet. She slammed the door behind her, grabbed fresh underclothes and was about to reach for the robe when she paused.