“I’m sorry, were you saying something, River?”
Like they’re hooked up to his voice, they tighten even more, and I clutch my notebook like it’s my lifeline, covering the evidence. Big mistake because the friction is apparently just what I need, and I nearly let out a moan.
Holy hell am I sex-deprived, getting turned on by a fucking notebook. Has nothing to do with a shirtless Dean, of course.
He steps closer, and I don’t back up, holding my ground.
I shove my shoulders back. “Just that I hate you.”
“Really?” He takes another step. And another. He’s so close I can smell the cinnamon from his gum.
Every inch of my body is on edge because all I can think about is how he’s too close but too far away at the same time.
He takes one last step, then dips his head toward mine. He’s not touching me, but if I weren’t holding my breath, my notebook would be bumping against his chest.
“Hate me so much you’re hiding your hardened nipples behind a notebook?”
The whoosh of breath leaves me in a loud groan, and I flee from the room, careful not to brush up against him.
“Something wrong, roomie?” he calls out, amusement clear in his voice. “Did something pop up that you want to talk about?”
“You leave my nipples out of this!”
His laughter echoes through the apartment as I slam my bedroom door closed.