Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(10)

Russell was so focused on the words coming out of her mouth, he didn’t realize she’d been unbuttoning her blouse until it came off . . . revealing a white tank top. Thank God. Eyes up, *. She’s telling you something important. Russell heard himself swallow. “Predictable people don’t take a chance on two strangers as roommates, letting them move in the same day. Predictable people don’t almost get blown up. Or did you forget about that part of your day?”

Her lips twitched. “I have a feeling you won’t let me forget.”

“I don’t like that you think I’m always mad at you, Abby. That makes me feel like a dick.”

She yawned again, tipping to the side. “Yes, but you’re my dick.”

Aw, shit. He knew—he knew—she’d meant that in the most innocent way possible, but it didn’t stop his stomach muscles from knotting into a series of intricate patterns and pulling hard. Which made him a complete tool because the girl was clearly exhausted, eyes fluttering with the need to close. Worry beat back the majority of his desire as he surveyed the cluttered room once again. Was it normal for someone in her position to work so hard? Had she gotten a promotion?

“Russell, stop thinking so hard and put on a movie.” She inched her way backwards on her elbows and collapsed back onto a pillow, making her tits bounce. Come on. What had he done to be tested like this? Grabbing the closest distraction like a lifeline, Russell leaned down and placed the bag of frozen peas on her ankle, adjusting it so it would remain in place. She was wearing nylons, but no way in hell was he taking those off, so the ice would have to do its job through the sheer material. When he looked up at Abby, she was smiling that my hero smile at him. It put the f*cking sun to shame. “Wet Hot American Summer is on demand,” she said around a sudden yawn.

“We’re watching it in here? What about the couch?” Code f*cking red. Come up with an excuse to get her out of here. “Look at me.” He gestured to his grimy construction clothes. “I can’t lie on your white bedspread like this. I’ll leave an outline.”

“I don’t care if you smell, but if you want to take a quick shower, there are extra towels in the hall closet. Don’t use the purple one, though.”

“Why not?”

“Louis’s birthday gift from Roxy is rolled inside it. You don’t want to know.”

“I assure you, I want to know.”

Her eyes twinkled, and he experienced some serious relief at seeing something besides fatigue on her. “Edible underwear. For him to wear, not Roxy.”

Russell executed an overhead first pump. “All the worry you put me through today just became marginally worth it, Abby.”

Her drowsy laughter followed him from the room, knocking him square in the chest. As soon as he’d closed himself in the bathroom, he started with the now-familiar breathing exercises. A few hours. He could get through a few, measly hours.





Chapter 4



REMINDING HERSELF IT was only three o’clock in the afternoon, Abby forced herself to sit up before she lapsed into a coma. Russell had blown off the rest of his workday to keep her company, and it would be rude to fall asleep on him. She could hear the shower spray drumming in the adjacent bathroom and pictured him scowling at her pink loofah and white-grape body gel.

Smiling to herself, Abby set aside the bag of peas and eased to her feet before limping to the kitchen. Her ankle had started to throb, and without any painkillers in the house, she would have to employ the ancient alcoholic remedy known as tequila. And wow, her roommates were really rubbing off on her. She’d never been much of a drinker and was still considered the resident lightweight among the super group, but she enjoyed the buzz a couple of shots gave her. Maybe it would take her mind off the avalanche of work she would have to complete when Russell left. Work that would probably take her until dawn.

Determined to ignore anything but a couple hours of laughing with her friend, Abby retrieved two shot glasses and the bottle of Patron left over from their last indoor summer barbecue. By the time she returned to her bedroom, the shower spray had quieted, so she poured two shots in anticipation of Russell’s coming in and left them on her bedside table. Using the piece of furniture for support, she peeled off her nylons and flopped back onto the bed. Abby didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until Russell’s heavy tread forced them open, and she saw him standing in her doorway.

Shirtless. Damp. Jeans sitting low on his hips.

A red-hot fist formed beneath her belly button. For Russell? She tried to shoot into a sitting position so fast, the back of her head bashed against the headboard, which really didn’t help her confusion. Not a bit. She wasn’t supposed to notice Russell in that way, right? But when a water droplet rolled down the center of his abdomen and vanished into the waistband of his jeans, she noticed. And she noticed good. Today marked the first time she’d ever seen him without a shirt. It also marked the first time they’d ever been alone, without their friends around. Both facts occurred to her simultaneously and out of nowhere, she wasn’t just watching a movie with a friend, anymore.

She was watching a movie on her bed. With an extremely well-built man. A man with chest hair. A man with his family name—Hart— tattooed across his chest.

Russell dropped the towel he’d been holding and came toward her. “What was that reaction about? Did you forget I was here?”