*Ember*
The towel sitting around Kyan’s hips is so low, I can almost see the V tapering off from his perfect washboard abs. If it were any lower, I’d probably pass out. In fact, I realize that I’m staring at him–at an inappropriate part of him–as he walks across the room to the dresser we share.
Thankfully, he’s no longer looking at me. “Hey, Emory,” he says over his shoulder, but it sounds almost pained, like he wishes it was anyone but me.
I can’t blame him. It has to be exhausting having to keep one eye open for his roommate to f**k up every few minutes and get us both into trouble.
“Hey.” I’d like to think of something interesting to say, but nothing comes to mind. “Done in the shower?” I ask and immediately want to slap myself across the face for being stupid. No, Ember. He’s gonn
