Page 65 of Dirty

Lex

Adam’s attire was the same every day. He wore his jeans, black and white Van’s sneakers, a stark white tee shirt, and his black hat. Day in, day out, it was the exact same thing, every day. After a little begging on my part, he’d agreed to add some clothes to his wardrobe.

Standing in the middle of the living room, he turned slowly so I could inspect him for change.

Other than his face being cleanly shaven, I came up with nothing.

“I’m not seeing it,” I said. “Even your watch is the same.”

“My arms are bare.” He turned to the side and raised his eyebrows.

I don’t know what I expected, but the subtle change he’d made had gone unnoticed until he mentioned it.

“Your arms are always bare.”

“Normally, I wear a tee shirt with sleeves,” he said. “Today, I’m wearing a black wife beater.”

“Ooh. Classy,” I said with a laugh.

After he’d mentioned it, I couldn’t help but notice that his arms were bare, and it looked like he was wearing nothing more than his leather vest.

It dawned on me that except for the night we met, I’d never seen him without his vest on. My recollection of that night was spotty at best, so in all reality, I’d never seen him without it.

I wagged my finger toward him. “Can you take off the vest?”

He sighed, removed the vest, and draped it over the back of the chair.

Dear God.

After he’d removed the vest, I realized just how much the sleeveless piece of leather concealed. The black ribbed tank clung to his skin like a coat of paint.

His stomach was flatter than flat. His chest was massive and wide. His arms, which I’d seen every day for the last month, seemed much more muscular. In short, I liked his vest right where it was.

After a few seconds of drooling, my eyes locked on his torso. The black cotton did little to conceal his washboard abs, but it camouflaged them enough to frustrate me.

“Can you. Uhhm. Lift up...” I pointed toward the hem of his shirt. “I want to see your…”

With the bill of his hat pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and his eyes fixed on the floor at his feet, he seemed embarrassed.

I was at a point that I didn’t care.

“Lift up your shirt,” I said, almost demanding it.

He reached for the front of the shirt, pulled it over his head, and draped it over the back of his neck, revealing his entire upper body for my inspection.

The evening sun cast shadows over his rippling abs, and his tanned chest flowed into his shoulders, arms, and torso like nothing I’d ever seen.

My heart went batty, beating like I was running a race.

Then, my face went flush.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, fanning my face as I spoke. “Can you turn just a little to your left?”

He sighed, tugged against the bill of his hat, and twisted at the waist. His jeans fell a little lower on his hip. With the bill of his hat still pinched between his thumb and forefinger, he glanced down, noticed more of him was revealed than he was comfortable with, and he quickly released his hat and reached for his jeans.

“Don’t,” I begged. “Leave them. Please.”

He looked up. I pried my eyes away from his well-defined torso and met his gaze. “New rule,” I said.