Page 103 of The Incredible Ordinary

He nods. “So you each have your own floor, huh?”

He’s standing so close. Close enough that I can smell the faint hint of his aftershave. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, pretending I’m relaxed. That my heart isn’t tripping over itself.

“The bathroom is over there,” I say. “There are extra towels under the sink and a toothbrush.”

“You can take the first shower,” he says. His shoulder almost brushes mine, and his eyes get even more intense.

I try to figure out if there’s a hidden meaning to what he’s saying. If this is him wanting me to… wash the date off my skin.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid me.

There’s too little space between us and the air feels thin.

I tell myself not to move. Not to look at his mouth. Not tonoticehim. Of course I do. I notice everything.

It’s yearning and longing and pure terror.

“Okay,” I say belatedly. “Yeah. Um, I guess, go check out your digs in the meantime?”

I almost groan out loud.

Go check out your digs?

Jesus fuck! Who says something like that? My cheeks heat, and it’s a good thing the hallway is so dim. Maybe he won’t see.

Milán bites back a smile.

“Okaybye,” I say in one breath, then escape.

I lean my back against the door in the bathroom and let out a string of whispered curses. This…thing. This… whatever the fuck you call it. Desire? Curiosity? Blue balls? It’s put the weight of the world on my shoulders, and it’s crushing me. It’s an ache that won’t go away. A storm I can’t find shelter from.

I turn the shower on and adjust the temperature to cold. I barely notice the icy spray, mind elsewhere. Always.

I wash off the date and the evening and dry myself. Brush my teeth. Almost laugh out loud when I realize I didn’t bring my clothes.

I hesitate at the door and clutch the towel tighter around my waist. My bare feet pad softly over the floor when I make my escape to my bedroom. I pull on a pair of boxer shorts and absently rub the towel through my still-wet hair.

I have to go check on Milán, but then I’m done and can freely go hide. I pull a T-shirt over my head and start to head to the hallway again before I go back and find a T-shirt and apair of sleep pants for Milán. My pulse pounds in my neck at the thought of him in my clothes.

The bathroom door is open a crack, light spilling out.

I push it open wider, too distracted by my thoughts to let common sense in.

“Hey, I got you some?—”

He’s standing in the middle of the bathroom, chest bare, jeans unbuttoned, clutching the shirt I left on top of the pile of my clothes on the laundry basket. He’s holding it up, nose pressed into the fabric.

His eyes widen when he sees me standing there.

I register all of this in slow motion, with my quickening, progressively louder heartbeat as my soundtrack.

Adrenaline courses through my body.

Warning bells make themselves known.

Don’t do anything stupid. Think things through.