and there’s Rhode, glaring down at me while gripping the doorframe like some brooding hockey god that just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing gray sweatpants hanging low, precariously low, on his hips, and he’s shirtless. My jaw falls. I blink to see if he disappears, but no, he’s still standing there with all those glorious muscles, a V on his hips that definitely leads to a naughty destination, and a dusting of silver speckled stubble across his thick pecs. He’s got a hard body custom-made for dirty fantasies, and even though I run every morning, I can’t imagine the grueling workouts they go
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DONT U DARE PUT THAT SHIRT ON
