"I’m sorry... I knocked but it didn’t wake you," I stammer, feeling even more exposed than he is. Can he tell I was looking at him while he was sleeping?
He sits up and stretches his arms over his head, flexing his fingers, and my stomach does the flippies again at the sight of his chiseled chest and abs straining as he arches his back.
"It’s okay," he says groggily. "f**k. Something smells great."
"Dinner is ready. If you’re hungry?"
"Are you kidding? I’m starved."
"Well, get up, sleepyhead. I’ll go set the table."
I make a quick exit out of his room and he joins me in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed and much more awake, and throws a pair of purple sweatpants at me.
"What’s this for?" I ask.
"To wear when we check the traps after dinner. I don’t want you to wear shorts wa
