Calmly, Carefully, Completely(85)

I hear the bathroom door open and get up. Reagan walks to stand beside me and whispers, “Which room is ours?” Her hair is loose and damp, hanging down over her shoulders. Her face is free of makeup, and she smells so damn good that I want to lick her. I adjust my junk, and Matt snickers. I scowl at him, and he nods toward the bedroom. It’s a subtle warning, but I take it. “It was nice to meet you, Reagan,” he says.

“You too,” she calls back, but I’m already ushering her toward our room. I wait for Maggie to walk into the room with us and then close and lock the door. She looks around. “I’m nervous,” she says quickly. She puts down her bag, and I notice she’s wearing the clothes she had on before.

“Do you need something to sleep in?” I ask.

She shakes her head and smiles shyly at me, avoiding my gaze. “Could you turn around for a second?” she asks.

I grin, and it makes me so f*cking happy that she asked. I hear a rustle of clothing and sheets behind me, and I look back to find her sliding between the sheets of the bed we’ll share. And she’s stark f*cking naked. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Going to bed,” she says, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. She rolls onto her side and rests her head in the palm of her hand, her elbow pointed toward the head of the bed. She pats the space beside her. “You coming?”

Her voice is shaking, so I know she’s not nearly as cool as she wants me to think.

I point toward the lump her body makes under the covers. “Are you naked under there?” I ask. I’m not sure I can stand sleeping next to her naked. I know I asked her to try it. But I’m not sure my nerves can take it.

She lifts the edge of the blanket and looks down. “I still have panties on,” she whispers.

Jesus Christ. I run a hand through my hair. “Okay,” I say slowly.

I kick off my shoes and sit down on the edge of the bed to pull my socks off. Then I shuck my jeans off quickly and pull my shirt over my head. I slide between the sheets in my boxers, trying to stay turned away from her so she won’t see how hard my dick is. The last thing I want to do is scare her.

I feel her fingertips on my arm and heave in a breath. “Jesus,” I say.

Her fingers still. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I croak.

She sits up. “You sure?” She clutches the covers to her chest.

“Yeah,” I bite out. Her fingers start to trace my tattoos again.

“Do you think you could give me a tattoo?” she asks.

Finally, a safe topic. “What do you want?” I ask. I roll over to face her.

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I roll toward the nightstand and open the drawer. This used to be Logan’s room and he’s an artist, so there’s a drawer full of pens and markers. I pick up a few and lay them on the bed. “Roll over,” I say.

“Why?” Her brow furrows.

“Just trust me,” I say, and I motion for her to roll over again. She does, looking back at me over her shoulder as she moves to lie on her stomach. The blanket is hitched up nearly to her shoulders. “Can I pull this down a little?” I ask.

She nods and wraps her arm around the pillow, then rests her face on it. She smiles softly. “All right,” she says quietly. Her breaths are harsher now, though. And she has goose bumps on her arms and the back of her neck.

I uncap a pen and touch it to her back, drawing a quick little picture of a butterfly. “We can do a butterfly like this one.”