If I thought I was sweating before, it was nothing to the stickiness on my palms once Julian began intently rolling his sleeves without breaking eye contact. To my shame, I looked away first—just for a second—to watch his fingers capably fold fabric over veiny forearms. Shit. I knew he was trying to make a point, but I hated how effectively he was doing it. “Didn’t realize you were afraid of a little bare skin, Rosie,”
PISSING!!!!
