Combine those factors with his ridiculous necklace, and it was like the trifecta of meninist bullshit.
But it still felt like a win. I’d managed to charm a handsome guy after eating pavement in front of him, and I must’ve been marginally interesting that morning because he’d asked me to brunch.
I still had some kind of mojo, right?
After I got out and wrapped myself in a towel, I opened the bathroom door and nearly ran over Colin.
“Ohmigod!” I put my hand over my wet, towel-wrapped chest and looked up at him. Man, he was tall. “How do you keep scaring me?”
And how do I keep running over boys?
He grabbed my upper arms to stop me from tackling him, but his tense jaw and burning blue eyes made my body hyperaware of exactly where each of his fingers were on my skin. I’d barely dried off, so there was water all over my arms and my hair was dripping, but I managed to feel hot in spite of the goose bumps that covered me from head to toe.
Because Colin’s tanned, sweaty, über-defined naked chest was also right there. And just below those beautiful pecs were the sinful abs that could only be described as perfection. I knew I needed to force my eyes back up to his face, but it was hard because there we were, inches apart, both slick and baring a lot of skin.
“My apologies for interrupting you at my house.” He let go of my arms and I saw him flex his fingers before his hands dropped to his sides. Seriously? He was flexing his hand like he was Mr. Darcy at freaking Netherfield? He gave me a dickish smile and said, “How dare I?”
I clutched at my towel and matched his dickish tone. “You know what I mean. That’s twice that I didn’t even know you were here.”
He made an intentionally assholish confused face. “But you . . . know I live here, so . . . ? Next time should I schedule my day with you, just so you know where I am?”
“Yeah.” I tilted my head and made my own intentionally assholish face. “That’d be great.”
“What happened to your knees?” His eyes were still on my face, but apparently he’d already noticed the matching strawberries on both legs.
“I was helping an old lady cross the street.”
“Liar.” His eyebrows went down. “How would that cut open your knees?”
“Um,” I started, not even sure why I was lying about this, “I had to save her and it required a diving maneuver.”
“Really.” He looked like he knew I was making up stories, but he also looked like he should be on a Nike poster with the words Just Do It painted across his sweaty body.
“Yes, really.” I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn’t know because you’d never risk your fancy clothes by helping an old lady.”
“You don’t know that.”
I just shrugged.
“So . . . you’re not going to tell me what happened, then?” He seemed like he really wanted to know.
So I said, “I don’t think I will, actually.”
I turned away from him, gripping the front of my towel as I walked to my room, and right as I reached the door he said, “Tell me what it says, Marshall.”
I glanced over my shoulder and he still looked serious, but one side of his mouth had hitched up into a half smile as he pointed at the tattoo on my back. I shook my head and said, “Not a chance, Beck.”
I shut the door and scrambled into clothes, and a few minutes later I heard him turn on the shower. I wasn’t sure what’d happened between us in those few crackling moments, but it’d clearly irritated him and had most likely been a product of my imagination.
After all, I had been spending way too much time fantasizing about my anonymous pal. My flirtations with Mr. Wrong Number had most likely boosted my libido to an unhealthy level, resulting in me feeling electricity where there surely was none.
It was Colin, after all; you couldn’t have electricity without warmth, right?
And on a random side note: Where the hell had Mr. Wrong Number gone?
Colin
Miss Misdial: Dude, where’d you go? I’d be offended if I wasn’t 100% confident that I’m too entertaining for you to ghost.
Dammit.
I dropped the phone on the table, leaned back in the uncomfortable kitchen chair, and stacked my hands on top of my head. Now that I’d had some time to think about it, I was a little surprised I’d never noticed the similarities between Misdial and Olivia before. Every word that “Misdial” had texted—the language and attitude—sounded exactly like Olivia, though Misdial had sent a lot of unexpected content.