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And, yeah, those thoughts in the shower last night? Completely out of line.
Soreness pulses through my knees. Only eight miles today, but too much of that was on unforgiving concrete. Tomorrow, I’ll need to bike or swim. Later today, I’ll meet up with Trevor for a lifting session.
I refill the water bottle with filtered water, set it back in the fridge, and pad softly through the apartment.
I nudge the door open with the back of my hand. Light filters through the cracks in the closed blinds. She’s sprawled out across the mattress, hair askew, the sheet kicked to the side. Her pajama shorts have risen up her hips, and my gaze runs along her smooth thigh to the slope of her ass. The pajama top she’s wearing has twisted upward, exposing a smooth midriff. The position she’s sleeping in is awkward. Her face is to the side, both arms spread out like she might have at one point been sleeping on her belly, but her torso rolled sideways.
Back in the day, she was too thin. The kind of skinny that had nosy people doing double takes and whispering. It was worrisome. I’d been a teenage dude, and even I’d noticed and worried. Sam sure as hell had, constantly trying to force her to eat, but her body was working too hard, struggling to pump blood, to breathe. As my dad would say, she had trouble keeping meat on her bones.
Talk about a medical miracle. There are no bones jutting out along her ribs now. Smooth skin and curves where they’re supposed to be. Curves I shouldn’t itch to explore. She’s Sam’s sister. She is here for protection.
Last night’s cold shower helped, but I still returned to a bed with her in it. And given I’m staring at her now and getting a chub, it’s clear I’m one horny bastard.
A shower every night isn’t a long-term solution. Besides, at some point Sage will figure out what’s going on, no matter how quiet I am.
Her eyelashes flutter. She rolls onto her back, and I spring into action, grabbing clothes and stepping into the bathroom.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Sam told Sage to come to me so I’d keep her safe. She’s safe here. I will keep her safe and honor her brother’s request. And figure out what’s going on with Sloane. Then send Sage on her way.
When I exit the bathroom, Sage is no longer in the bedroom. I find her sitting at the island bar with a small glass of milk.
“Morning. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She smiles. “No, not at all. I don’t usually sleep late.”
“Did you sleep okay last night?”
“Yeah, I did. Did you?” Those brown eyes drip with concern. “I know you’re probably not used to…” Pink blooms along her cheekbones. “I mean, I know you have…but not like a friend.” She slaps her palm down on her thigh. “I’m gonna ask Stella about that unit that’s empty. I don’t?—”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Across the way, I’d never know if something happened during the night. “Besides, I sleep better with you in the bed.”
Her chin lowers, and she studies me like she can’t decide if I’m being straight with her. I hadn’t actually thought about it, but I slept well last night. She’d also rolled to the middle of the bed, and it had been…nice.
“I’m about to head to a soccer game. Can I convince you to join me?”
“Soccer? Like a pro team?”
“Felix’s son. Three and easy. Cute as all get out.” I love going to the Saturday games. It’s been a good way to bond with the guys, too.
I’ve been debating volunteering as a team coach for the local kids’ league. Probably not for the three-year-olds. I don’t have that kind of patience. But I played soccer a ton as a kid. I’ve got some tricks I could teach.
“Do you think we might have time to stop and get a coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Damn. I should’ve made her a pot. “You know, I do have coffee.” I point at the coffee pot sitting on the counter then open a tall, skinny upper cabinet. “The filters are right here.”
“I figured I’d walk to the place down the street and get a coffee, but if we’re going to go…oh, do I need to get dressed? Are you going now?” She’s up and emptying the rest of her milk in the sink and turning on the faucet.
“No rush. Game starts whether or not we’re there. But yeah, it starts at eight. The league hates parents.”
She smiles and shakes her head like I’m ridiculous. “Trust me. Those parents have been up way before eight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Kids.” She shrugs. “They’re notorious for not sleeping late. I’m a kindergarten teacher, remember? I talk to a lot of parents.”
Right. She would. I watch her backside as she pads through the place to the bedroom. Millie gets up and follows her. Clearly, loyalty isn’t the dog’s strength. But I suppose I’d rather trail Sweet as Pie than Mr. Stern and Commanding, too.
