Page 33 of The Surprise Play

Does he know me? What’s he about to say? What’s he about to do!

I scramble to speak before he can tease or touch me.

“Wily’s room?” I squeak.

His lips twitch when he stops, eyeing me up one more time before pointing over my shoulder.

Whipping around, I spot the two doors and immediately notice a big sign on the left one.

King Wily. Ruler of the northern realm. Curtsy upon entry.

“King Wily?” I whisper under my breath.

A soft snicker makes me flinch, the guy mumbling, “He was playing princesses with Zoey yesterday. You don’t have to curtsy.”

“Oh, o-okay. Thank you.” I try to smile, my palms sweating as I grip my laptop bag and inch toward the door.

It’s kind of cute that Wily plays with that little girl. That should help me relax. He’s great with kids. That’s the sign of a good, safe, nonthreatening person, right?

At least it should be.

I tentatively approach the door. Reading the sign one more time, my smile grows as I remind myself that mean, horrible jocks don’t play princesses with their not-technically goddaughters.

Raising my hand, I go to knock, but the door opens and a plume of delicious-smelling deodorant hits my nostrils before my eyes take in what can only be described as…gloriousness.

Another shirtless man assaults my senses, but this one is bigger, broader, more mouthwatering somehow.

Wily is standing in his doorway in nothing but a pair of sweats. His chest is sculpted porcelain beauty. I can see the definition of his muscly torso, branching out into two solid arms that are all power. Glimpsing the crop of hair under his armpit, I then can’t stop myself from tracking down the rest of his body to that sexy triangle that disappears into his low-lying waistband.

Seriously, another one?

This day is gonna kill me.

Pull yourself together, girl! They’re just bodies.

Yeah, but this one is way hotter than the last guy, and he was Adonis!

I don’t even know who to compare Wily to. Hercules, maybe? Thor? He is blond. Grow those locks down to his shoulders and yep, he’s Thor.

“Come in.” He walks into the room, and I’m introduced to his back muscles, which are just as impressive as the front ones. He’s so long and broad and?—

Stop looking!

I turn away, taking in his room while he talks to me.

It’s a bit of a mess, clothes strewn all over the place, shoes haphazardly dumped on the floor. Empty water bottles litter the area around his trash can, and there’s a damp towel bunched at the end of his king-sized bed. Which is unmade.

I sniff the air again, the dissipating deodorant making way for the underlying man smell. It’s ripe and real, wafting up my nostrils when I get too close to his stinky laundry hamper.

Okay, then.

Biting my lips together, I pick my way through the chaos and come to an awkward stop by his desk, which is covered in books, papers, protein bar wrappers, and empty Gatorade bottles. I’m guessing he doesn’t use it very often. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot the large TV and PlayStation console, noticing the cacophony of remotes and wires.

Oh boy.

Looking back at his desk, I move forward and collect the trash, clearing off the space.

Yeah, this desk is a poor, forgotten feature in this room. I can’t imagine it gets a lot of lovin’.