Page 68 of The Score

She stills. When she moves again, it's slow. "Should be fine. Right? It evens out the score for the other day when you walked into the changing room without notice."

I nod. She doesn't know I offered to undress that day expecting her to say no. It's fine. Today we're pretending none of this matters. It's the only thing we can do— or I can do— in the wake of that kiss.

I start unbuttoningmy shirt.

She reaches toward her lower back. Bites her lip. "Totally fine. We can be casual."

Her skirt turns loose and she drops it to the floor. She stands in front of me like this is normal. She’s only wearing her lacy crop top and off-white, skin-tight, mid-thigh shorts of some sort. It heightens her hips and the curve to her waist.

I find it harder to breathe all of a sudden.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a low tone.

It may have been a little menacing, but there's nothing I can do about it now.

She glances at me. My shirt is open. She studies my chest, like she doesn't know the tattoos I have there.

"If you feel something," she says, "it's just biology."

Like us remembering this is extremely important.

I frown. "Got it. But why are you undressing?"

"Habituation." Her eyes look hopeful. "I'll see you in your underwear tonight. You'll see meagainin a minute. Married couples get used to each other after a while, right? At some point seeing your partner in their underwear has to get old."

"I doubt it."

"It has to. It can be like that for us, too. When you're in your underwear, is that any different from you being in shorts? I'll pretend it's shorts, Bear."

"Go right ahead." My voice comes out gravelly. "But don't get naked in front of me, please."

I can hear the wheels turning in her head.

"I wouldn't be naked," she says. "Underwear isn't naked. And I'm not wearing the blue lingerie today— this set is more—"

Shit. My brain is too happy to fill in the blanks. Anticipation is too quick to fill my belly. Visions of Pen undressingfor me, modeling lingeriefor me, giving a teasing, 'come hither' smilefor me…

"Don't tell me." The words make it out through grinding teeth.

"It's just—"

"I'm not as good as you at telling myself it's just biology, Penélope."

Her eyes widen. My heart drums away as I wait for her response. I tighten my jaw. Nothing is going as expected, my heart is struggling through a rollercoaster, and I'm not sure all of my molars will survive the evening, I'm grinding so hard. But we shared a thousand little magical moments today, and I won't get to process them until the morning.

And now she's standing in front of me across the bed we'll share, wearing very little clothing.

She nods. "I'm sorry. I was trying to make it… normal, but it isn't. Can you help me with the buttons on my back, though? If you don't mind. That will be the last of it."

I lick my bottom lip. I nod. Can't really get her to ask the concierge for help. That would make me too bad of a husband.

I make myself impassive and I go around the bed to her.

Her long hair is up into curls and a loose, low bun type of thing. She starts taking pins out and helping her is automatic. It makes sense. There must be a hundred little metal clips keeping the hairdo in place.

It's tender, but I don't let myself think about it, or the way her skin breaks into gooseflesh. Or the shaky breath I can hear coming from her.

"Thank you." She takes the pins from my hand.