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When I look back, I’m pleasantly surprised to find his blue-green eyes hooded over and staring at my ass. My shorts are a little too short, but that’s what he gets. That’s right, take it in, Roomie. And good luck blaming the drool dripping down your chin on acting. But then I see the rest of him, my eyes coasting down his bare chest because the motherfucker is in nothing but a towel, water still dripping down his body, fresh out of the shower.
“Indy, I’m not blind, but even if I were, I’m pretty sure I could touch your face and understand just how fucking stunning you are, but it’s not the first thing I see anymore.”
It seemed like something a normal man would do for a girl he likes. Because at the end of the day, that’s who this bookshelf is for.
Tears leak from my closed eyes, partly because I’m sick and partly because I’ve never had someone take care of me like this, body and soul. Today’s realizations are overwhelming me, and in true Indy fashion, crying is my favorite outlet. “No one has ever taken care of me,” I squeak past the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Ryan.”
I bought you all new dishes and silverware, so we have enough for everyone. Well, you bought them. I used your credit card, obviously.” A tiny smile spreads across my lips. “Obviously.”

