“You.” He pointed at the blob. “Don’t fuck this up.” The blob was silent. “Just tell her everything and try not to die of embarrassment when she’s horrified. No guts, no glory. Get it fucking done.” By this time, his reflection looked a bit less blobby and a lot more determined. Satisfied, Will nodded, wrapped a towel around his waist, and unlocked the bathroom door.

It opened to reveal Abbie standing in the hall, her hands clasped in front of her and a strange expression on her face.

Will stopped dead.

“Erm,” she said. “Were you just talking to yourself?”

Well, shit. “Maybe.”

She must not have heard his actual words, because she smiled and shook her head and released a nervous laugh. “Huh. Okay. Erm…” Her eyes flicked up to his face, strayed down to his chest, then snapped back to his face again. “It has just now occurred to me that standing outside the bathroom until you finished your shower was an incredibly weird thing to do—”

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, because he didn’t. First, it suggested she wanted to be near him, which was great, because he wanted to be near her. And second, she was clearly having trouble not looking at his half-naked body, which was excellent. Very excellent. He was not above using whatever advantages he had when it came to holding her attention. He had the vague idea that he should be ashamed of himself, but he was too busy trying to subtly flex.

“Right,” Abbie said, her gaze sliding completely away from him and landing on the floor—which was a good sign. Unless it was a terrible sign. He had no idea. This was why he had to get better at the whole talking thing.

With that in mind, he said, “Listen, I’ve been wanting to tell you—”

“Um,” she interrupted, “maybe you should get dressed first.”

He couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Should I?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses further up on her nose. “You wish, Reid.”

“I do, Abbie-girl.”

She looked at him then, a little spark of surprise in her gaze, followed by … a sweet smile on her berry-coloured lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an outrageous flirt?”

“No,” he said honestly. He didn’t think he’d ever flirted with anyone but her. He’d never really felt inspired to bother.

“Perhaps I’m just especially susceptible, then,” she muttered, but by the time his scattered brain remembered what susceptible meant and started to feel pleased, she’d already stepped back and moved on. “Seriously, go and get dressed. I can’t concentrate when your delts are staring at me.”

“Delts, really?” he asked. “I would’ve gone with nipples. Much more eye-like.”

She made a strangled sound of disbelief. “Are you really comparing nipples to eyeballs right now?”