CHAPTER 16
WHEN I WALKED into Adler House the following Sunday, Nick was standing in the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans. Only a pair of jeans. Soft, washed-out grey denim, frayed around the edges and sitting delightfully low on his hips. I could have stared for the rest of the day, but thankfully he was engrossed in watching something cook in the microwave so he didn’t notice me lick my lips.
“I can make breakfast for you,” I offered.
He turned around. A chiselled V ran down the muscles on either side of his abs and disappeared into his waistband, but the dark circles smudged under his eyes spoiled the image. The drooping eyelids. The slumped shoulders. I didn’t know what I wanted to do more—give him a hug or lick him. The stubble flecking his jaw would undoubtedly be rough on my tongu
