“You haven’t?”
“Okay, well, you don’t need to sound so disbelieving. It’s true, some women can resist looking at nudey photos of you.” Just barely though.
“You haven’t even been the least bit curious?” His voice is doing something new. Something growly. Something that makes my stomach bunch and twist.
“No.” It’s a bald-faced lie. “Friends don’t see friends naked. It’s the most basic rule of humanity.”
Nathan’s long legs are sitting at 90 degree angles in front of him. Solid tree trunks taking root. He moves his arm to drape over the back of the couch, his fingertips ever-so-slightly brushing my shoulder as his other hand moves to rest on my ankle. His thumb moves up and down. Up and down. Up and down. But the most curious thing is the way his gaze shoots forward and he’s biting down on his lips.
“What?” I ask, feeling the earth shift beneath me. “What’s that face for?” I poke him in the cheek.
“Hmm? Nothing.”
“You’re the worst liar, Nathan. Seriously, I hope you never play poker or you’ll lose all your money. Spill it.”
His dark eyes slide to me. “You’ll wish I hadn’t if I tell you.”
My heart races. “Okay, well now you really have to tell me. In fact, I demand it.”
He lets out a deflating puff of air from his cheeks while rolling his head from side to side like he’s getting up the courage. “I’ve…I’ve seen you naked. There, I said it.”
For some reason, my natural instinct when hearing those words is to shoot to my feet and throw a couch pillow at him. “No you have not!”
Nathan’s laugh feels surreal. Like I’m dreaming. “I really have. It was an accident. You were getting out of the shower, and—whoa! Are you okay? Bree, sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.”
I am. I am one hundred percent going to pass out. Nathan Donelson has seen me naked and I had no idea! This is not okay. What was I doing? Oh gosh, please tell me I wasn’t dancing or something horrible. Maybe this is why he’s never made a move on me. He saw me naked and felt nothing!
Nathan takes my arm and tugs me down beside him on the couch. And here’s the problem with this whole situation: He’s my best friend who I always turn to in situations like this, so even though he’s the one I’m embarrassed around, he’s also the one whose chest I bury my face in for comfort. His long arms engulf me and he secures me to him. I’m anchored. His cologne washes over me, and now I know this was a mistake. He’s not going to let me go.
“See, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d freak out, and I was afraid you’d take your key away from me.”
“Good idea. I want my key back!”
“Not a chance. Bree, we can be adults about this.”
“No we can’t! We’re not adults about anything—why would you expect that now? I’m so humiliated. Did you linger? Did you stare? How much of a look did you get? And…what…angle?” I don’t want to know any of this, but I’m also desperate to know. Like a train derailing. You can’t look away from something like that.
Nathan sort of growls, and I feel his head tilt back like he’s looking at the ceiling. “Okay. No, I didn’t linger, because I’m not a perv. And…it was sort of a 360-degree angle because you walked out of your bathroom and then…I don’t know, forgot something you needed in there and spun around to go back in.”
Well, let’s call it, folks. Bree Camden’s time of death: 10:30 PM. Died of humiliation overdose.
I groan and whimper in succession, burying my face harder into his chest. I will burrow in here and never come back out. Sure, I’ll be attached to him forever, but at least he’ll never get to look at me again.