Caitlyn’s POV
I freeze like a deer in headlights, caught mid-stare.
My hand still clutches his dripping shirt, and my gaze is very much not on his face. It’s on his abs. His stupid, chiseled, unfair abs that glisten like something from a Calvin Klein ad. And Mia—my sister, my very loud, very unfiltered sister—is standing in the doorway with her mouth curled into a slow, amused smirk.
“Well damn,” she drawls, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Don’t mind me. Carry on.”
Kill me.
“I will, um…” I fumble with the shirt in my hands like it’s suddenly radioactive, avoiding both their gazes. “Be throwing your shirt in the dryer. In a few. Just...yeah.”
I dart toward the hallway like a fugitive on the run, shirt clutched to my chest like it’s the last shred of my dignity.
Behind me, I hear
