He got out first, and when I came out with no more than a towel around my waist, he was dressed in his jeans . . . And my BTS shirt. “Hey.” He laughed. “Told you I’d get it.” My mouth fell open. “That’s not how this works.” He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. His grin was breathtaking. “It’s exactly how this works.” He picked up his shirt from the floor—the oversized one that made him look hot as hell—and threw it at me. “You can wear that.” “You’re so bossy.”
