I fight the urge to do just that. “There’s another outlet?”
He nods. “In my room.”
Of course.
His room is dark—this is the one I saw from outside, where he got dressed less than half an hour ago. I remember the cut of his butt cheeks and the way his hips swayed gracefully as he slipped into his jeans… I shake my head, but the images don’t fade away. When he turns around, he leans past me and closes the bedroom door, and my gaze falls to his waist.
His jeans are unbuttoned—when did that happen? Had they always been open? I don’t remember anymore. I wipe my hands on my hips in the hopes of drying off my palms, but it doesn’t work. He steps closer to me, and I take a quick look around the room. Where’s the light switch? For that matter, where’s the damn TV?
“Um,” I say, clearing my throa
