All Fired Up (Green Valley Heroes #7)

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

MADELINE

L ooking up at the sky for approximately the millionth time since we started our run, I eye the dark clouds rolling in toward us that seemingly popped up out of nowhere. The weather was fine all afternoon. Is it Murphy’s Law that it would only turn bad as soon as I need it to be nice?

“You worried about that?” Hunter asks, pointing above. Though he usually runs behind me, today he’s beside me. Not like we could have a conversation, though. I’m always breathing too hard to talk.

I nod and he asks, “You want to cut it short?”

A clap of thunder overhead has a yelp escaping from me, and he laughs. I push at the immovable wall of his shoulder and tell him I want to head back, though we’re probably still almost ten minutes away from his house.

Thunder rumbles again, and a few minutes later, the downpour comes, soaking us to the bone. It’s one of those summer showers that goes from zero to sixty with little warning, but there’s nothing to do other than keep running the last five minutes, even when I accidentally step in a puddle that submerges my foot up to the ankle.

Lovely.

The sight of Hunter’s home in the distance is the best thing I’ve seen in a long while, though I’m a cold, shivery mess as we finally reach it and he opens the garage door for us. I shove my hair out of my face, sure I look like a drowned rat, but I can’t care about that as I pant, catching my breath after that last sprint.

“Let me get towels for us,” Hunter says, toeing off his shoes by the door that leads inside.

I nod, a puddle forming around me as water drips from my clothes onto the concrete floor.

My eyes widen as he strips off his shirt and drops it on the floor, raindrops running in rivulets over his impressive chest and down the length of his flat abs. He’s never taken his shirt off around me before, even when working out. Sure, I’ve seen his clothes cling to him, but that’s nothing compared to the sight of him like this, so close I could reach out and brush my fingers over the dusting of hair on his pecs. Over the hard ridges of his abdomen. Over the dark trail of hair that leads into his gym shorts.

The dripping shorts in question come off next, followed by his socks. That leaves him in only a pair of tight boxer briefs, molded over him in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

He turns and I school my expression to remove the shock from it, not wanting to appear like a prude.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving me alone in the garage.

My hand cups the back of my neck, feeling the heat there, despite the chill surrounding me. He was undressing so he wouldn’t drip water all over the house. It was a practical thing, not a sexual one.

If I’d seen his body like that before he kissed me, though, I might have been more insistent as I pressed against him.

Oh God, I’m awful. Hunter does not think of me like that. He’s called me a know-it-all. A teacher’s pet. He didn’t even touch me when I kissed him.

This is only a biological reaction to seeing a mostly naked man. That’s it. Hunter’s body is Greek sculpture–worthy. It only makes sense I’d drool a little.

Yeah, that’s it.

When he returns, he has an oversized towel looped over his shoulders, hiding that amazing body, but I don’t focus on that as he spreads an identical towel over me, enveloping me in soft, fluffy terry cloth.

“Oh my God, that’s amazing,” I murmur, wrapping myself into a towel cocoon.

“You’re welcome to use my shower,” he says, eyeing me with amusement. “To get actually warm.”

A hot shower sounds heavenly, but it wouldn’t solve the problem. “I’d only be changing into wet clothes again afterward.”

He shrugs. “I’ll stick them in the dryer and you can borrow a shirt and boxers until they’re done. But I can’t help you with the...” His gaze flicks to my chest and back up. “The bra.”

Tingles spread over my chest at his attention, and I mentally scold myself. Stop being ridiculous.

I should suck it up and drive home. It’s not like it’s a far distance.

But it is still raining . . . and I’m pretty cold, even with the towel . . .

“Okay,” I say, agreeing before consciously deciding to. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

I take my shoes and socks off before going in the house, but don’t strip off my clothes the way he did, instead holding the towel tighter around me. He leads me past the guest bathroom I’ve used a few times, and further into the house where I’ve never been.

We enter his bedroom and I pause in the doorway, taking in the king-sized bed covered in a soft-looking gray comforter. Matching nightstands flank either side of the bed, along with a dresser on the opposite wall. Again, I’m surprised at how nicely it’s decorated in here, with brushed silver lamps and a beautiful map art print hung above the headboard. I’d love a place like this. Too bad I’m stuck with Mom for the foreseeable future.

I didn’t take Hunter as the kind of guy who would care that much about his surroundings, but it was obvious from the first day I came over he didn’t have some gross, half-furnished bachelor pad. Maybe an ex of his helped decorate when he moved in? No, he said he doesn’t have any exes.

Just conquests.

I shake off the thought and follow him to the en suite bathroom, where he’s waiting for me.

“I could use the shower in the guest bathroom, you know,” I tell him.

“Nah, this one’s a lot nicer. It’s a walk-in.”

I peek around him at the luxuriously big shower. There’s no way that came standard with this house. It even has one of those overhead rainfall showerheads.

I almost make a joke about getting out of the rain, only to shower in the rain again, but I don’t. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, something about being in his personal space messing with my head.

“Your home is so nice,” I say instead. “I really love it.”

A shy smile creeps over his face, transfixing me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile without any trace of mischief or amusement or any of the other things he normally infuses into it.

“Thanks,” he says softly. “This place is important to me.” He shifts the towel on his shoulders, looking down. “I kind of think of it as my sacred space.”

“I can see why.”

His lips part, as if he’s going to say something, then he shakes his head. “Let me get you some clothes to change into.”

Right. The shower. That’s why I’m here.

A moment later, he hands me a faded Green Valley High Athletics T-shirt and a pair of blue plaid boxers. “You might have to roll down the waist a few times to get them to fit.”

I nod as I accept them, sudden nerves coursing through me. Why am I nervous? All I’m doing is taking a shower.

“Do you want me to put your clothes in the dryer before or after your shower?”

“Um, before, I guess. So they finish quicker.”

He steps out of the doorway to the bathroom, and I shut the door, dropping the towel to the floor. The sodden fabric of my clothes clings to me, and I have to practically peel everything off, then wring it out over the sink. I situate the towel around me and open the door, handing him the wet pile.

His gaze rakes over me as he takes it, not that there’s anything to see. The towel fully covers me. His gaze meets mine again, something in the depths I can’t define. Like he’s holding something back.

I don’t understand what it means, and when he doesn’t say anything, I slowly close the bathroom door again, saying, “I’m going to shower now.”

He nods but doesn’t move as I shut the door practically in his face. Okay, that was weird.

Turning, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and nearly laugh at the way the rain plastered my hair to my head. No wonder he was staring. I really do look like a drowned rat.

I set the water to hot and get in, indulging in the steam it produces and the rainfall showerhead that I make a mental note to add to my Amazon list for my own shower. This is divine.

The shampoo he uses smells pretty standard, but as I crack open the bodywash, I discover that elusive scent of his. I inhale deeply from the bottle, sighing. I’m probably a weirdo, but I’ve always loved the smell of men’s products. While other girls complained back in high school about swimming through clouds of Axe body spray, I secretly reveled in it.

Lathering up, I study the picture on the front of the bottle, where a kraken fights a bear. I don’t get the branding at all, but at least it smells good. After a few more minutes, I finally shut the water off and find a fresh towel in the small linen closet in the corner to dry off with.

I have no shame in poking around the closet, but there’s nothing of interest in there. Up next is the medicine cabinet, where the only semi-embarrassing thing I can find is an open container of gas relief pills. Come on, I thought he’d have something better than that in there.

He doesn’t have any hair-detangling spray, unfortunately, so I brush out the snarls in my hair with his hairbrush, sans product. It doesn’t look like he even owns a hair dryer.

How many other girls have discovered the lack of a hair dryer the morning after sleeping over here? My gaze lands on the shower, thinking about all the girls that have showered there, too. Hunter was probably in there with them, fucking them against the tile wall.

My stomach drops, and I push the sour sensation away. Hunter can do whatever he wants, especially in his own home.

I dress quickly, but linger before I leave his bedroom, staring at the bed. Even more than the shower, how many girls have slept there? How many have rolled around on that mattress with him, screaming his name?

My gaze flicks to the nightstands next. He probably has crazy sex toys and condoms and lube and God knows what else in there. My fingers itch with the sudden urge to rip open the drawers and discover what’s in there, to paw through his personal belongings like a madwoman, enraged about something that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself out of the room before I do something I regret, and stop short outside of the kitchen. Hunter’s dressed in casual clothes, his profile to me. His lips are moving, brows narrowed in concentration as he reads the back of a frozen pizza box.

As he notices me, his head jerks up and he nearly drops the box, like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t. He hates when I watch him read. I usually pretend to look at the textbook when he reviews my notes to quiz me at the library.

“Hey, you feel better?”

I stare at him blankly. How’d he know what I was thinking in his room?

“After your shower?” he prompts when I’m silent. “Now that you’re warm and dry?”

Right. Duh. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

“You want to split this with me?” he asks, holding up the pizza. “It’s still raining and your clothes aren’t dry yet. I was thinking we could watch a movie. Maybe that one based on the Hugo book?”

He stumbles over the last couple of words, his pitch higher than usual, then bites at his bottom lip. Is he...nervous?

“I thought we were going to wait until you finished reading it,” I say, not sure what to make of this.

He runs a hand through his hair and ducks his head. “I actually finished it today, after I got back from your house.” His voice is more normal now, modestly pleased with himself. “It’s probably the first book I ever read all the way through.”

Guilt swamps me at my thoughts from earlier. Here he is offering me dinner and the use of his home. Reading a book that I asked him to. And I’m irrationally angry at him for having an active sex life? Just because I don’t have one doesn’t mean he can’t. It’s none of my business, anyway.

“Pizza sounds great,” I tell him. “And I’d love to watch the movie with you.”

His answering smile is tinged with relief. “Great. I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Why?”

One of his shoulders lifts in a shrug. “I like hanging out with you.”

He does? Funny, but I feel the same way. What a strange path we’ve been on, that what started as a punishment is something we both like now.

He sets the pizza on the counter and preheats the oven, then rips open the box.

“Would it be corny if I said I was proud of you for finishing the book?” I ask, watching him get out a pizza pan from a lower cabinet.

He glances at me, then back at the pizza.

“It would.”

“Well, I’m going to say it anyway.” I lean against the counter, swirling my finger around a pattern in the faux-granite surface. “I’m proud of you for trying something new and succeeding.”

Even from across the kitchen, the sudden warmth in his cheeks is apparent.

“I finished a book. Big deal.”

“You said yourself it was your first one. That deserves some fanfare.”

He gives me a sardonic look. “You got some confetti hidden in a back pocket I don’t know about?”

I look down at myself. “Well, they’re your boxers. You tell me.”

When I glance back up, there’s unexpected heat in his eyes. “They look good on you, by the way.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. “Um, thanks.” The back of my neck burns, but I resist the urge to touch it. Time to get back on track. “So, how are we going to watch this movie?”