“Laundry,” I manage to say. I clear my throat, trying again. “Your mom said—”
The words barely leave my mouth before he growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the narrow hallway and sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes are dark, stormy, and for a second, I think he might tell me to leave. Instead, he steps aside like a predator making space for its prey to walk into a trap.
I hurry past him into the bathroom, hyperaware of his looming presence just behind me. The small space is suffused with his scent. It wraps around me before I can stop myself from breathing it in and I force myself to breathe through my mouth, which does not help.
The door clicks shut to the bedroom. The sound is loud in the quiet room, making my pulse stutter.
I force myself to focus on the task
