I turn on twitchy, unsteady legs, placing one bare, wet foot in front of the other as my eyes look ahead to the figure taking the lead.
My ears and cheeks are on the verge of burning themselves to a crisp, and I can’t even begin to describe the extremity of my embarrassment and self-consciousness right now. I’m all too aware of my nakedness, and all the muscles in my legs tense as cold air hits my bare bottom, the sensation only amplified by the shameful wet streaks lining my skin.
Impulsively, I pull at my top, stretching it downward from both the front and back as far as it will go, trying to cover my unmentionables. And all it does is make me look insane, the T-shirt too short to do more than what it was made to. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
I try to steady myself, each step in his direction more wary and timid than the last, but all my limbs are shaking so badly that it’s a miracle I can even move at all.
I only manage to get to the door of the dining room before my knees buckle from under me, and I go tumbling down to the floor.
Ungraceful would be an understatement.
I reach for the door handle reflexively, and somehow manage to grab the long metal bar on my descent, clutching it like an anchor even as it digs painfully into my already bruised palm. By some miracle, it’s enough to break my fall, but barely.
Frost turns around at the sound of the unexpected commotion, his icy eyes hot and impatient…but also…something else.