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I put down my phone when the bathroom door opens and Ian steps out, the scent of cool woodsy aftershave following in his wake, the tight muscles along his torso bunched as his arm moves the towel through his hair had me yawning, I wiped at my eyes sleepily with one hand and I’m reminded of when I walked in on him all those months ago.

Then, I’d blotted as fast as my legs could carry me.

Now I snuggled deeper into the pillow and hugged the sheets to my chest and I watched.

Because I can.

He wasn't the only one who could look now, I couldn't now, and I did it a lot. Clothed or unclothed, Ian Quinn was a work of art.

My eyes followed a single trail of water as it ran from his damp hair down his thigh throat to the swells of his shoulder, that tiny drop of water might just be teasing me because it rolled between his pecs my lips parted when it followed the path of his abs, my mouth drying as I followed it down, down to the happy trail of dark hair his abdomen to the trim patch of