“Absolutely not. I’m a gentleman,” he says, sounding offended.
I harrumph. “I just need to—” I scoot between where he’s sitting against the dresser and the bed. It’s a tight squeeze, and the fabric of my towel brushes across Collin’s face. I know he can’t see any of my naked body, but between kissing him senseless and now this, I may as well be the surface of the sun.
It’s embarrassment. It can’t be attraction.
I refuse to allow myself to be attracted to Collin Rattler.
That was not part of the deal.
He scrunches up his nose and sucks in a breath as I pass by him. “You smell good.”
“A bath will do that for a person.”
When I pull a sweatshirt over my head, I glance at him, and he’s shaking his head, eyes still covered. “No. Your skin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like your own personal body scent. You’ve never noticed it before?”
“Um, no.”
“Well, it’s there. I think it’s normal. Haven’t you ever gone to someone’s house and caught a whiff of their closet? Certain people have distinct scents. You have a scent, and it’s a good one. Sort of like a mix of vanilla and butter and sugar. It reminds me of Sunday mornings.”
He tilts his head, as if giving this some real thought. As if this is actually a legitimate conversation we’re having.
I can’t help it. A snort escapes my lips. “What are you, a blood hound? Don’t smell me, you weirdo.”
Collin’s smirk is all that’s visible from beneath his hand-covered eyes. “Should I remind you that you sniffed me not so long ago? This is a two-way, smell-happy street, and we’re both on it.”
The blowtorch that is my face goes off again because…yeah. Collin smells like a mix of pencil shavings and frankincense. Woodsy with some depth. Honestly, a candle company would do well to bottle his scent up and sell it. They’d make a fortune.
“I did not,” I say out loud.
“Whatever you say, boo-boo.”
“Ugh. No.” I pull on a pair of sweatpants. “You can open your eyes.”
He drops his hand. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You looked like a freaking prairie dog, popping up from out of nowhere.”
Collin grins over at me. “Prairie dogs are kind of cute, aren’t they?”
“If you want to take being compared to a rodent as a compliment, I can’t stop you. What were you doing?”
Collin gets up from the floor, and now he’s standing there in all his glory, right in front of me. He’s wearing gray joggers and a plain white t-shirt. The sleeves are so tight around the muscles of his arms that it cannot be comfortable.
I’ve felt those biceps.
My mouth goes dry, and I tear my gaze away from him. It’ssonot the time to dwell on the ridges and valleys of Collin’s muscles. Not when he looks as cool as ever. Cooler, even. And meanwhile, I’m a lava monster.
I’m so used to seeing Collin in his uniform or dressed to go out—all buttoned up and suave. Now, he looks casual. Like a muscly, cedar-smelling teddy bear I want to cling to.
This whole night is going to my head.
I need to put some distance between me and this annoyingly frustrating, beautifully thick-skulled, and wonderfully supportive man.
“I was resting,” he says in response to my question.
