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“One small gesture, Milton,” I warn him with my tone, not that it ever does any good with him. “Don’t push it.”
“How am I allowed to touch you then?”
“I don’t know. Surprise me. But keep it PG, got it?”
“Oh, I’ll keep it family-friendly. Trust me.”
“At least you haven’t lost your humor.”
“Oh, you think I’m funny?”
“Humor.” I point out flatly. “Funny would mean I would actually laugh.”
“Same to me.” He winks and gets a dress shirt from the closet. How did this guy survive until now?
“Let me.” Without waiting for permission, I walk over and take the shirt from his hands, unbuttoning it methodically. “You’ll need to dry off first.”
He nods and lets the towel fall away to scrub his hair dry, then dabs at his chest and…
I cover my eyes. “Put some clothes on.”
“Why? You’re the one who barged into my apartment.”
“Didn’t barge. I have a key.” I spin around, which feels less about giving him privacy and more about hiding my reaction from him.
He tosses something—probably the towel—aside, and suddenly, his voice is right next to my ear. “What’s wrong? Never seen a naked man before?”
“None quite as full of themselves.”
“But you have seen some?” His voice drops dangerously low. “Recently?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right.” Some rustling sounds as he starts getting dressed, thankfully, but not before adding, “It’s not like we’re actually dating.”
“Just get dressed.” I hold the shirt out behind me.
He takes it. “Yes, ma’am.”
A stack of unopened mail and folders on the dresser catches my attention. The top envelope bears a red ‘URGENT’ stamp across its surface. I hope it’s an eviction notice. Maybe they’ll finally kick him out for not replying to them, but then again, he probably owns this place, or at least Elijah does.
“Though I have to say,” he says, “if we were dating, I’d make sure you didn’t have time to look at other men.”
“Your ego is showing. And it’s not big.”
“You haven’t seen my ego yet, cupcake. Big tip.” A belt clinks. “It grows.”
My mouth goes dry, and heat crawls up my neck.
Usually, I have some sharp retort ready. But right now? Nothing. Just the thundering of my heart and the acute awareness that I should say something. Anything.
I’m just grateful he can’t see my face.
“I’m done,” he says.
Turning back, my eyes catch on the askew collar, like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes. He must have done iton purpose. Silent now, he watches with dull eyes as I reach up, straightening his shirt with jerky hands.
One small gesture. That’s all it’ll take to keep up the charade, to make it look real. I can handle that. I have to.