Page 75 of Secret Obsession
But… I’m curious.
And desperate to wash off.
So I retract my hand and hurry down the hall to the bathroom, which is blessedly empty. The other bedroom doors are all closed up tight, giving me no indication of whether their occupants are home.
At least I don’t have to worry about Knox barging in. He has his own bathroom to use. In the shower, there’s the good kind of shampoo and conditioner, left over from Aspen staying here with Steele. I say a quick mental thank you to her for leaving them here, and I wash in record time.
Wrapped in a towel, I step back into Miles’ room. He’s laid out clothes on the now-made bed, and he’s nowhere to be found.
Huh.
He picked a band t-shirt and light-wash jeans. There’s no bra… and no underwear either.
I frown. My gaze bounces from the clothes to the closed drawer.
Is it a test?
Well, if it is, it’s a stupid one.
I march over and open the drawer, only to stop dead at the sight of the closet. It’s full of shirts and stuff that I bought, sure, but… my underwear is gone. I open the top drawer and note his neatly folded briefs and the paired socks on the other side of it. I go through the rest of the dresser, then finally stop.
The clock is ticking, my time to get to class dwindling fast.
Too much happened yesterday. I’m having trouble getting my mind around it.
“Morning,” a voice chimes.
I whirl around.
Knox leans on the doorframe, his one arm braced above his head. My gaze rakes over him. The stylish way he always dressed no longer holds the same appeal. In fact, it makes me question how I fell for him so thoroughly.
“Sleep well?” he asks.
Did I? Islept, which is more than I thought was going to happen. He seems to do his own sweep over my body, hidden only by a towel. He’s seen it before—it isn’t anything new. My grip on the corners of my towel tightens.
I swallow thickly. “Um…”
He chuckles. “I’m sure you did. See you around, Willow.”
He shoves off and leaves me gaping at the open door. I hurry to it and slam it closed, then go back to the dresser. I snatch out a rolled pair of briefs and drop my towel. I tug them up my legs. They’re not a super-snug fit—but at least it’s better than nothing between my pussy and jeans. That solved, I dress quickly and put a new bandage on my foot, followed by socks and shoes. I snatch my jacket and shrug it on.
Downstairs, Miles waits for me by the door. His hungry gaze drinks me in, so much so that I stop dead.
“What?” I question.
He shakes his head, his focus snapping. “Your hair is wet.”
I run my fingers through the strands. “Drying it was going to make me late.”
“You might be late, yet,” he murmurs.
I frown. “We don’t have time.”
“Thus the definition oflate.”
Ugh. I spot my backpack leaning against the wall next to his, and I go straight for it. I fall to my knees and unzip it, hurrying to pull out the books for my Tuesday/Thursday classes. No use lugging those around, too. All that’s left is my laptop and the books for my three classes today.
Hooking the strap over my shoulder, I rise.
