“You’re sexy when you glare at me like that,” he said.
“I am not. You just said I’m wearing a robe over a schooner sail.”
“You’re still sexy.”
“I don’t feel sexy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again.
“How do you feel?”
“Prudish. Uncomfortable.”
“Well, you aren’t prudish. You asked me to spend the night with you.”
“I think that was your idea.”
“Beside the point. You liked the idea.”
“I did. Kind of.” She smiled.
“But what about this uncomfortable thing? Are you uncomfortable with me? Or are you uncomfortable with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you liked that I’m comfortable with myself. Are you comfortable with yourself?”
“If I were, do you think I’d be wearing a schooner sail?”
“Good point. Maybe let’s lose that. Can we?”
“You’re trying to get me naked already? That was fast.”
“Not naked. Not yet, anyway. Here.” He stood up in front of her and unzipped his black fleece Columbia jacket. Under it he wore a white V-neck T-shirt. He tossed the Columbia jacket onto the back of her armchair and then pulled the T-shirt off over his head. “Take this.”
“What?” She looked at his naked chest in shock. Shock, surprise and pleasure.
“I want you to put on my T-shirt. If you would. If you wouldn’t mind. I’d appreciate it. You’re really doing me a favor here.”
“Doing you a favor by putting on your T-shirt,” she repeated.
“When a beautiful woman puts on my shirt, it makes me feel better about the state of the world. And if the only other thing she has on is her underwear, I’m downright optimistic for the future. And don’t we all need a little more optimism these days?”
“So I put on your T-shirt and traipse around in my underwear and you’ll feel better about world events?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t really know exactly what traipsing is. But I would like you to do it, yes. Whatever it is.”
“So you’ll feel better about the world?”
“Right,” he said, nodding. “I’m feeling perkier already.”
“Perky...that’s what we’re calling it now, are we?”
“Lose the sail and I’ll be downright cheerful.”
She sighed and took the T-shirt out of his hands. She tried not to stare at his chest as she did it, but she didn’t try very hard. He had a good chest, nice broad shoulders and the right amount of chest hair—more than a boy’s and less than a Sasquatch’s. Flat stomach, which was good. No washboard, which was better. She would feel really uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man with a six-pack. She much preferred normal bodies over perfect bodies considering just how unperfect her body was.
“I’ll go change in the bathroom. If that’s okay,” she said.
“Your pony, your saddle. You change where you want. I’ll be right here.” He patted the bed.