Her gaze starts at the arm my son is perched on, then it travels lower to where the towel meets the bare skin around my hips. I watch her trace my tattoos with her attention before her eyes bounce over my abdomen as if she’s counting each muscle on her way up to my chest. “My eyes are up here, Montgomery.” “Yeah, I know.” I chuckle. “You almost done sexualizing me?” With her eyes, she retraces the same path. “You keep walking around here in nothing but a towel and the answer to that will continue to be a resounding no.”
