He looks from the coffee to me. His eyes narrow. “I thought we were riding with Ryan and Tina.”
“We are, but why make them stop at both of our places when we can just take off from their house? Besides, I already told Tina that I could pick you up.” I smile, waiting.
His gaze settles on the two coffees again. He somewhat reluctantly opens his door wider so that I can come inside. Only then do I notice what he’s wearing. My eyes wander down his white tank top and land on his plaid boxer shorts. My gaze freezes there. My eyes go wide and my breath hitches. I only look long enough to realize he’s in his underwear, but the two seconds that it takes still feel way too long. My face flushes. I stare at the floor while I hand him his coffee.
He takes a sip. My gaze rises up from the floor, and I sneak another peek without meaning to. I knew he had nice arms, but even his shoulders and chest look muscular in this shirt. I manage to refrain from allowing my gaze to dip any lower. The first thought that springs to my mind is that he’s hot—and who knew his shoulders would make me think that—and then I cringe that the thought even crossed my mind. It’s such a waste that a guy like him has a body like this. He’s annoying and rude and inconsiderate of anyone but himself. I thought guys are supposed to lose their attractiveness when their personalities are so unlikeable.
My eyes return to his. I’m startled to find him watching me. I wonder if he knows that I’m checking him out, or if my glance over his body was brief enough that he missed it.
“Like what you see?” He makes his pectorals dance. I guess I have my answer.
“Your nipples are hard,” I tell him. “Must be cold in here.”
His amused smile fades. He looks down at his chest. “Leave it to you to notice something like that.”
I take a sip of my coffee, then decide that I’m done wasting time. “Is Ryan proposing today?”
“We’ve been over this,” he says. “I’m not telling you anything.”
I should have known he was going to be difficult. His refusal to answer is as good as a confirmation for me, but also tells me that he isn’t going to cooperate. I can’t let Ryan’s proposal happen, though. I head for a bookshelf in his living room. I slide his books over, looking behind them to see if I can find where he hid the ring.
“Priscilla,” he says with a sigh. “What are you doing?”
“Where is it?” I ask. I decide that it’s not in the bookshelf. I move on to the kitchen. He follows me in and leans against the refrigerator, watching with a smirk as I open each of his drawers and cabinets.
“You’re looking for the ring?” he guesses. “Do you really think I would hide it in the kitchen?”
I roll my eyes. I walk past him to the other side of his house where I’m guessing his bedrooms are. He’s right behind me as I make it into his hallway.
“Don’t go in there,” he warns as I start to push open a door.
I pause. I look at him over my shoulder, my eyes narrowing. “Why not?”
“Just… don’t.”
I ignore his warning and go in anyway. As soon as I’m through the door, I stop in my tracks, surprised. Not because there’s anything inherently wrong with the room, but because of how nicely decorated it is. It looks like all of the furniture came straight out of a catalog, was put in here, and never touched again. Even the bed is perfectly made.
I look back over my shoulder at Oliver. “Is this your room?”
He nods without saying anything. I turn back to the room, taking it in. I went out with a guy once who took me back to his place, only for me to find out he didn’t have an actual bed. He slept in a hammock strung up in his room. Needless to say, I didn’t stay long. Another guy just had an air mattress on the floor along with some mismatched furniture. After the hammock guy, the air mattress guy seemed like an upgrade. I’m realizing now that maybe my standards were a little too low.
This makes me wonder why Oliver doesn’t want me to come in here. It’s not like he has anything to be embarrassed about. Unless it’s not embarrassment he’s afraid of…
The ring must be in here, I realize. I step up to his dresser and open the top drawer. I lift some of his shirts, but I don’t see the little box.
“Come on, Priscilla. Stop it.”
I ignore him. I move on to the second drawer.
“It’s not in there,” he says.
I continue to ignore him and look through it anyway. When I get to the third drawer, he steps up next to me and pushes it closed before I can get it fully open.
“I’m serious, Priscilla. Stop it.”
My eyes widen. I look down at the drawer. “It’s in there. Isn’t it?”
I try to open the drawer again, but he keeps his hip pressed against it. “No. It’s not.”
