Page 54 of In Your Wake

“Are you?” The words, heavy with insinuation linger in the warm air of the office.

He looks away, then tucks his lip as if considering what to say, and it fills me with guilt. I don’t regret saying what I said, but I’m not exactly happy about it, either.

“So, if you’d won, you’d really have left me out of your decisions?” I ask, arching my eyebrow.

He drops his hands, tucking his thumbs into his jeans. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Right,” I reply, then nod over my shoulder and open the door to the tiny bathroom. “We can do it in here.”

Fitted with a sink, a toilet, and a shower, the small bathroom will be cramped once we’re both in there, but strangely, the thought doesn’t bother me as much as it should.

Behind me, Mitch frowns, probably thinking the same thing. “Are you sure we shouldn’t do this somewhere else?”

“I knew it. You’re backing out.”

“Now hold on. I didn’t say that.”

He pulls his coat off, revealing a light gray MSU T-shirt underneath, the worn fabric stretching around his biceps.

“It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.” Sticking his chest out, he walks over, stopping close enough that I feel the heat floating off his skin. “Not sure it’ll fit.” As his words hit me in all the wrong places, he locks his eyes on mine. “I wouldn’t want you messing up my pretty face because you don’t have enough space to move.”

My treasonous thighs tense in response. “I’ll make it work.”

I grab the desk chair and roll it over. He walks in, looks at himself in the small mirror above the sink, then rubs a hand over his beard.

“What’s the matter? Are you… scared?”

He takes a seat in the chair. “I’ve grown used to this thing.”

“I can tell. When’s the last time you went bare?”

“That’s none of your business.” He chuckles, looking up at me, and I realize what I’ve said, heat rushing to my cheeks.

“I mean, how long have you been growing it?”

In a flash, his expression changes, and his eyes fill with a striking sadness that answers my question.

“Oh, that’s a long time.”

“Too long.”

Hearing that he’s been sporting the beard since he left Oakwhite doesn’t sit well. It’s a security blanket, a layer he’s used to protect himself, and it kicks up all sorts of feelings. Refusing to let them affect me, I distract myself and search through the linen closet in the office. Finding our spare toiletry kits we have on hand for guests, I pull out a razor and a small bottle of shaving cream, then return to the bathroom and maneuver around Mitch’s legs.

“You don’t mind lavender-scented, do you?” I ask showing him the bottle.

He relaxes, shoulders dropping, and smiles. “Nah. It wouldn’t be the first time my face smelled like a woman,” he replies with a wink that grosses me out as much as his answer, but my burning skin seems to like it.

“I bet it wouldn’t.” I roll my eyes, then take a towel and drape it over his chest, tucking it into his collar. My fingertips brush along the warm skin of his neck, sending a spark up my fingers. I jerk my hands away, fisting them. “Shoot. The scissors.”

I run out of the bathroom and rummage through the desk drawer, finding a pair, then return, but before I even pinch the ends of his beard, Mitch grabs my wrist.

“What the hell are those? Garden shears?”

“No, they’re scissors.” Sure, they might be quite large, but they’ll work.

“Max, you could cut meat with those.”

“Would you stop being such a wimp? They cut. That’s what matters.”