Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(39)

I wash quickly, but I have a particular routine: scrub beneath my nails at least twice, rinse, shampoo, wash, condition, repeat. I’ve already finished with those steps. But I still have others to do.

I prop my foot near the hot-and-cold knob and shave my leg. I slow down to avoid cutting my ankle or knee.

And then the door swings open.

I drop my leg, warm water dousing me from the showerhead. Please be Connor.

I process that sudden realization—that I’d want it to be him, out of everyone, that’d I’d hope for it. Even if it would pull him away from his business project.

I hate that I’m attracted to a man who thinks love is nothing but a weakness. But I also adore that there’s no one else remotely like Connor Cobalt in the world.

And I’m the one who has him.

When I look back up, Scott is already halfway inside, heading to one of the sinks in the center. He barely acknowledges me, just turns on the faucet and starts brushing his teeth. I solidify to stone. And I only move to cover my chest with my arms, standing underneath the showerhead, as though the downpour of water will clothe me.

I should ignore him and just go back to shaving, but I can’t reawaken my taut muscles.

I shouldn’t watch him either, but I find myself scanning his features quickly. Messy dishwater blond hair, scruffy jaw, and reddened eyes from the early morning.

He spits into the sink, and his gaze meets mine as he wipes his mouth with a towel. “Yes?”

“I didn’t say anything.” My voice is not even a little kind. I don’t know how to defrost the ice that clings to each syllable, even if I wanted to.

“You’re staring.” This fact gives him permission to lower his gaze to the misted shower glass.

I don’t look away. I will not come across as a frightened bird.

“I wondered if you were a bush kind of girl. Now I know.” He tops it off with a half-smile.

I purse my lips. He can’t see that much detail through the glass. “You’re a pig.”

He tosses his toothbrush back in a cabinet underneath the sink and leans against the porcelain rim. “And Lo calls me Mr. Hollywood. Do you all have a thing with nicknames?”

“Loren also told you to eat shit in the same breath, so I wouldn’t gloat.”

His grin never falters, in fact it widens. “You forget that every curse word, every pig and insult is another notch for ratings. So keep ‘em coming, honey.”

He prefers to provoke Loren since he’s fishing for drama. He’d like for me to curse him out too. Maybe I should seal my lips shut and let him deal with the silence. We could still have great ratings without being nasty. But it’s harder for me to be nice than mean. However awful that seems.

Scott steps closer to the showers, and my eyes tighten as I glare so hard. I continue to hide my breasts with my arm, but everything else is exposed. I could reach for the towel, but surrendering is not an avenue I’ll take. I’ll look foolish and scared, which’ll sit like dead-weight in my stomach.

He slowly steps out of his pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He cocks his head. “Taking a shower, Rose.” He motions to the available “stall” beside mine—the one so close that we could practically high-five. “Do I need your permission?”

“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders. “And you’re not getting it.”

He laughs. “I was just being a dick when I asked. I don’t really care about your permission.”

I don’t really care about your permission. His words gnaw a hole in my brain. I hated him before. I think I loathe him now.

He removes his white shirt, and my eyes linger on his abs for point-two seconds. They’re okay… Defined, but more “I lift too many weights and drink a shit ton of protein shakes” sculpted than the natural “this is my body. I’m just fucking hot” look. Which all three guys in the house possess in spades (even if they all do work out together).

My loyalties lie far, far away from Scott Van Wright—and even a simple compliment about his body feels like kissing a pig who shit in my yard.

I catch a glimpse of his red briefs.

This is not okay.

Fuck it. Where’s my towel?

I go to reach over the glass door to retrieve the cloth off the hook, but Scott snatches it—and it slings right out of my grip.

You have got to be— “That’s my towel.” This is not okay.

“Now it’s mine.” Scott acts modest all of a sudden, tying it around his waist so he can shed his underwear.

I fume. Outwardly. Steam may as well be blowing out of my ears. “What no peep show this morning?”

“We’ll save that for the bedroom,” he says. And winks. He winks at me. My insides shrivel in repulsion. I think he just poisoned my uterus.

He takes off his briefs, all while keeping the towel snug around his waist, and then he kicks his underwear to the side. His eyes pin to me, a smile playing at his lips. Yes, he is naked underneath that towel.

And yes, I am very much naked in the shower right now.

I’m not quite sure things could get much worse.

“Sorry that phone call took so long, darling.” Connor’s voice emanates from the doorway. “The partners wouldn’t stop talking about finger paints.”

A sudden wave of relief crashes into me. My teammate has arrived to tag me out of this disaster. Somehow he saw or heard Scott in the bathroom and came to retrieve me. Maybe he finally realized that I can finish his project for him.