Independent Braylee Mitchells faces the prospect of falling in love with her new roomie: self-proclaimed player and long-time friend, Dominick Mulder, when a damaged apartment and old vows force them together... and make them possibly confront and d...
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Chapter 8
BRAYLEE
Being blasted with cold water from a garden hose at 7am in the morning was not how I imagined my life panning out when Dom and I moved in together.
"There's nothing on my face!" I spluttered when Dom waterboarded me for the second time.
"Just making sure," he teased.
"Why am I the one getting hosed? Your dog is the instigator, yet he's dry as a bone!"
"That's true." Dom turned his attention to Trevor, leaving me to drip and feel utterly bedraggled and cold on the grass. The dog seemed to love the water almost as much as he loved shit to roll around in because he had no objections to being hosed down. In fact, he jumped about in the spray as if it was the best day of his life.
Soon, however, Dom noticed me hugging my waist and shivering, because he dropped the hose, told me to wait there, and bolted inside to grab me a towel that he draped over my shoulders. His fingers spanned the tops of my arms, rubbing a bit vigorously, and I became a bit too aware of how close he was.
My view spanned the entirety of his glistening chest a few inches away from the tip of my nose.
I also became more acutely aware of just how naked he was with nothing about his waist other than that towel, and the knowledge did something to me.
I broke away from his touch.
"Thanks," I grumbled, disconcerted by, well, everything. "I'm gonna shower now if that's fine by you?"
It was rhetorical... I hadn't meant for him to actually answer as I began to make my dripping way inside the house. "Take your sweet time, Brayson."
Once inside and the safety of a few doors separated me from Dom, it was still difficult to get him out of my mind, especially when I was confronted with some of his stuff in the bathroom.
For the most part, we were tidy individuals and kept most of our shit to ourselves. Sometimes, however, there were traces left behind when one of us was rushed- like now, when Dom obviously sped out the shower to rescue me from the trauma inflicted by his dog.
A small pile of his laundry had been kicked to one side- simply a pair of black sweatpants and... nothing else.
No underwear.
I dragged my attention away from that insinuating bundle and tried not to conjure up an image of Dom asleep in just those pants.
Stepping into the shower didn't help demolish those thoughts. Our individual products had been lined up neatly on respective shelves within the shower and just prying open the lid of one of Dom's shampoos was enough to make my body riot.
Ugh, seriously. What had gotten into me?
Less than a week living with the guy and I was acting like a cat in heat.
