Page 168 of Trouble from Abroad
“Shower,” I say, hitching a thumb toward the bathroom.
“On this floor?” Her face scrunches up.
“The upstairs bathroom is broken.”
April pinches the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. “Please, please tell me he didn’t go ahead with that ridiculous plan to remodel his own bathroom.”
I hike my shoulders so high they’re practically earmuffs. “Should I lie to appease you?”
April’s hand flies from her face, her index finger landing an inch from my nose. “No. Never.”
“April. I was joking,” I add, but her expression doesn’tbudge. Guess that one didn’t land. “By the sound of it, there’s no bathroom left. Wouldn’t be surprised if he knocked down a wall or two.”
She breathes out in a rush, dragging a hand down her face and muttering something about wrinkles and early retirement I can’t quite make out.
“We’ll call it stress-relief therapy,” she says with a grin. “Now go get dolled up and meet me in the kitchen.”
“Wait… you’re eating before we go out to eat?”
She winks at me. “You got it. I’ll make you a plate too.”
I stand there and set a fifteen-minute timer—outfit choice, change of mind, and makeup. With any luck, I’ll pick something that won’t combust at the sight ofhimall dolled up too.
When she’s about to pass by the bathroom, Pres opens the door, a cloud of steam curling around his godlike features, giving him the kind of entrance where the hero emerges from an explosion in a movie. Only this hero’s costume? Just a towel sitting dangerously low on his waist. One wrong move, and gravity’s taking that thing down with it.
Me? I’m #TeamGravity.
April screams. He screams louder. A sound so high-pitched it could shatter glass. Way too high for a man his size, and I make a point of not hiding my laugh.
Karma didn’t just come early; she showed up with a bang and brought sweet popcorn for me. He glares at me while he huffs—probably something flammable—out of his nostrils.
It’s my turn now, and I’m not taking a peek; I’m taking it all in. I’m cataloging every impossible muscle, committingthat V-line that shouldn’t exist outside photoshopped magazines to memory as if my life depends on it.
The doctor hikes his towel higher—oops, I’ve been caught. One of my eyebrows creeps up, slow with intent. Hey, I’m committed to the act because this is payback, and it feels fair. And hot. So very hot. Is the damn heat on, or is this how it feels on my slow descent to madness?
“What are you doing here, April?” Oh, good to know he doesn’t save his patronizing tone just for me.
“Excuseme. You gave me a key, now deal with the consequences.” Her voice is full of sass, and it makes my smile grow impossibly bigger.
“Can I have it back?” he asks, palm open and waiting.
“Not in your dreams.” She laughs and pats his stomach. I’ve never been so envious of another woman’s hand. How can she just… tap it and walk away? Unaffected. If I touched those abs, I’d need a support group and a lifetime supply of Valerian to recover. She’s halfway down the stairs when she tells us to hurry the eff up.
When I turn back to the fine doctor, he’s leaning in the doorway, towel still in place—my prayers clearly unanswered. Preston’s smirking when he says, “Found the robe, didn’t you?” He sounds smug enough to make my blood pressure spike.
My eyes flick between his and that damn V. At this point, it’s not even about anatomy—his body’s a roadmap, and my poor eyeballs are simply following where that arrow leads them.
His hand skims over his chest, right down to where his towel is knotted—fingers toying with the fabric and my last shred of composure—the move way too casual to be anaccident. I swear to God, if he starts flexing, I’m throwing something.
“Oh, fuck off,” I snap, turning so fast the robe nearly tangles around my legs. I slam my bedroom door in his arrogant face.
Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely. If karma’s on duty today, she better grab an apron—because I’m ordering seconds, and a dessert.
Preston’s stupid smirk? Bag it up for takeaway. That one’s going straight to the bin.
CHAPTER SIX
preston
