Dead Ends // Hugh Jackman

Chapter 28

The guestroom feels like it's closing in on me. I'm so nervous, so anxious.

The door is open, and I can hear the shower just down the hall running. Hugh's in there. I took one right before him, and now, I'm on the floor beside the bed, layering the sheets and blankets that my mom washed so I can sleep more comfortably.

There's more than enough space in here for 2 people, but it's not just anyone. It's Hugh and I. It already feels more intimate than it should, especially when I know I can only fall asleep under very specific circumstances.

For one, the door has to be closed. It has to be pitch black, and I have to listen to music. Some listen to white noise and other things of that sort, but for me, the only thing that works is instrumentals. It relaxes me, but I'm not sure I'll be relaxed at all with Hugh laying in the bed just a few feet away.

I'm relishing the last moments I have with him still in the bathroom, but it'll only be for another minute or so, because I can hear the shower turn off.

As a writer, I have a pretty vivid imagination, so the mental image I've created of him stepping out of the tub all dripping wet makes my cheeks warm up at the thought.

Nope, I push the thought away. That's a dangerous game I can't afford to play here. Not with Milo and my mom so close by. I have to remember this isn't my home.

But, the person this apartment belongs to didn't exactly help the situation. She's the one that started this nonsense in the first place. I swear my mom is trying to make things difficult for me on purpose.

I've just finished setting up my makeshift bed on the floor when I see Hugh walk into the room from my peripheral.

Oh, fuck.

What the hell is he wearing?

I was expecting to see him in Star Wars pajamas, because that's what Milo has, but he's not. He has on a white undershirt and low-hanging sweatpants. Like when I met up with him at that hotel in Wharton, he has a towel in hand, tussling his hair dry. His arm is raised, which in turn lifts the undershirt just a little. Enough to see a strip of bronze skin just right above his hip bone.

Mindlessly, my gaze zeros in on it, and I lick my lips.

"What are you doing?"

Thinking I've been caught staring, I snap my eyes up to meet his. He looks down at me in question, motioning to the sheets and blankets on the floor.

I clear my throat, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the sight of him is very distracting.

"I'm sleeping on the floor," I say, grabbing one of two pillows my mom brought after we finished dinner.

He quickly refutes that. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," I argue back.

"No, you're not. If anyone is going to be sleeping on the floor, it's going to be me." He tosses the towel over one shoulder, and I have to keep myself from letting my eyes wander down his figure again.

There's no way he doesn't notice the effect he's having on me, because I see a corner of his lips pull into a smirk. He's being so smug about it. I have to turn this around before it gets out of hand.

"But you're older and more frail." As if that's enough reason why I should take the floor, and he should have the bed.

He chuckles at my comment. He's amused.

"Do I look frail to you, Rinnie?"

Curse that wretched nickname. It sends a shiver down my body the way he says it. Like I'm adorable for trying to fight him on this.