All the Right Moves (All The Right Moves 3)

What is she doing in there?

There’s no window, so I’m assuming she didn’t go in there to climb out.

The thought sobers me.

Wait. Shit. What if she spends the night and tries climbing out my window in the morning? That would be a crushing blow to my ego. I can handle her not wanting to be with me tonight, but I couldn’t handle it if she tried to sneak out.

I’m not overly worried, but let’s be honest, she does have a history.

The sound of the doorknob turning garners my attention and has me shooting straight up and off of my desk chair, the rapid motion propelling it backwards on its castors across the hardwood floor and smashing it into the end of my bed.

Fucking bull in a china shop.

I grab it and push it back in place as Abby is flipping the bathroom light off behind her, and walking demurely back into my room, head cast down and hands clasped in front of her solemnly.

She looks up at me then, a small smile on her lips. “Okay.”

Um… could you be more specific?

Apparently, my confusion is evident, because she gives a shy, tinkly little laugh. “Sorry. Yes. I’d love to stay. O-overnight. Um. With you.”

I do my best to remain indifferent, despite my racing heart. “Great. I’m really freaking tired. Not that I wouldn’t walk you home. It’s just that I’m dead on my feet.”

Her bright blue eyes assess me, head tilted to the side. “Mmmhmm. Yeah, me too.” To illustrate her point, she gives a loud, dramatic yawn, lifting her hands above her head and stretching her arms. “So tired.”

My eyes go to her white tee shirt pulled taught against her high, round breasts, and I pivot on my heel, roughly yanking open the top drawer of my dresser. It shakes on its rickety legs from the jerking motion. Digging through haphazardly, I pull out the smallest shirt in my arsenal and chuck it at her. “Here.”

It hits her in the face.

She fumbles, just barely catching it, and holds it up to her chest, burying her face in it and faintly giving another quiet laugh. “Thanks.” Her shiny blue eyes, now sparkling with mischief, peer up at me as she bites down thoughtfully on her lower lip before retreating back into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second.”

As soon as the door closes, I go to work undressing, starting with my jeans, yanking them down and draping them over the large chair in the corner. I look down at my navy boxer briefs—at my straining erection—and pull those down quickly in favor of a pair of red Wisconsin Badgers sleep pants.

I strip off both my shirts, first the plaid flannel then the tee shirt underneath, and begin pacing as I wait for the door to swing back open, wondering if I should stay bare chested or toss something else on. I mean, Jesus H Christ, my nipples are so hard they could cut glass. You’d think it was twenty frigid degrees in here.

Should I be putting that shit on display?

I glance at the bed and groan, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to act when Abby comes back out that door wearing my tee shirt. And if I don’t stop running my fingers through my hair, I am going to give myself male pattern baldness. One glance in the mirror shows me my hair is standing on end.

Giving the dark locks a tug, I smooth them down with the palm of my hand and let out a frustrated breath.

The bathroom door creaks open.

My breath catches.

It’s just an old ratty tee shirt, but… damn.

The smallest shirt I own skims her thighs and does an outstanding job being snug in all the right places, her white underwear playing peek-a-boo from under the hem.

“Do you want boxers or something?”

Please say yes.

“No. I think I’m good.” Her freshly washed face glows, make-up free, and her long, dark hair falls in a straight curtain, framing her face and cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall. She glances at the bed, uncertain, fiddling with the hemline of my gray cotton tee.

Stop fucking with the bottom of your shirt, I want to shout, because the fidgeting is giving me a clear view of not only her smooth, bare stomach, but also a shot of her cotton-covered crotch.

Whoever said basic Hanes hipster panties can’t get a guy’s dick hard was a goddamn liar.

Let me assure you, they fucking can.

“Um. Which side…?”

“I sleep on…” Lamely, I point to the side next to the door, and stick my hands in the pockets of my sleep pants.

Abby nods, takes a deep breath, and gingerly walks robotically to the opposite side of the bed. She pulls back the covers and stares down. “When’s the last time you changed your sheets,” she jokes as she climbs in.