Page 165 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
My cheeks burned.
So he’d noticed the staring then.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?” Alex inquired again, softer this time.
“A bit,” I admitted, because I was. Even though I hadn’t done much talking myself, it’d still been a long, long night. Long enough that I didn’t even grimace when Alex used that godawful nickname. I was…maybe starting to like it.
Iwastired.
I hated socializing and I’d just voluntarily done it forhours.
The night had been endless.
And yet—I didn’t want it to end.
“How do you feel about a shower?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.
“A shower?” There was a hint of teasing in Alex’s tone, and the spark in his eyes made it clear he knew what I was up to.
My mouth went dry.
My dick gave a feeble, needy twitch.
I swear to god, I’d been half hard all night—grateful for my cock’s size as it was far less obvious on me than it was on Alex.
“Correct. A shower. You know, forshowering,” I over-explained. “You’re…wet.”
“Not as wet as you, I’d bet,” Alex grinned.
I made a high-pitched sound, and he snickered.
The summer heat had a way of making all my clothing feel sticky.
I’d had to borrow yetanothershirt from Joe—seeing as I’d run out of clothes from my backup backpack. Which was not…inspiring a lot of confidence. Me being…sticky. Alex being…covered in lake water?
Luckily for the both of us, he’d mostly dried off by the time we made the journey back up the hill.
We made a detour to the tent to grab clothing to change into. Alex, because he was nosy, noticed immediately that I had not grabbed a new shirt to wear. He frowned, his own suitcase wide open, a pile of designer t-shirts and pants arranged in neat squares.
God, even the way he packed his suitcase was sexy.
You are losing your mind, George.
Before he could open his mouth to ask, I saved him the trouble. “This is Joe’s,” I plucked at the hem of my too-large t-shirt with a frown. “I ran out of clean clothes. I wanted to do laundry but I’ve been busy—and my mom is always using the machines and so I’ve?—”
“Been borrowing clothes from Joe?” Alex frowned at me, offended. And then he chucked a shirt at me from his suitcase. I scrambled to catch it, nearly dropping it on the floor before I grabbed it just in time. “Hell no.”
“What?” I blinked, squinting down at the black t-shirt—so fucking soft to the touch—held in my grip.
“You’re not going to be walking around wearing some other guy’s clothes,” Alex grumbled, rising from his crouch.
“He’s not ‘some other guy’. He’s mybrother,” I deadpanned.
Alex shrugged, unrepentant. “Yeah, well,I’myour boyfriend.”
It did not escape my notice that Alex had omitted the “temporary” part. Which was…a first. And should not have filled me with the thrill it did. He’d only left it off to be dramatic. Not because he wanted something more from me. If he did, he would say something.
Alex’s shirt smelled like him. Like cologne, and laundry detergent. Unfortunately lacking the delicious musk of his sweat—but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and all that.
