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He thinks he’s angry at me? He has no idea. I’ve been beating myself up for the past nine years. Nothing I do now is going to right that wrong.
I’m just about to turn away from the window when movement in the yard catches my eye.
Staring through the glass, my jaw drops with surprise as I watch Dean emerge from the apartment in nothing but a pair of tight swim shorts.
Incredibly revealing tight swim shorts.
My mouth goes dry as I watch him cross the yard and bend into a squatting position near the edge of the pool to dip his hand in and test the temperature.
This feels like an intrusion. He has no idea I’m standing here, gawking like a pervert. But he’s barely been here a day, and already, it feels like the walking embodiment of sex has just infiltrated my otherwise innocent family home.
When Dean stands up again, I get a good look at the tattoos covering his sculpted arm like a sleeve. It’s a collage—a colorful tiger with some black-and-white flowers and a bright sun at the top.
Dean has a narrow build. His face still carries a boyish look, hardened by time and life. Nothing like the youthful kid I once knew.
I don’t know why I’m still standing here watching him as my coffee cup grows cold in my hand. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know if it’s curiosity or interest, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
That is, until his head turns, and his gaze meets the window I’m staring through.
Our eyes meet for just a moment, and I quickly fumble, spinning away from the window, full of embarrassment.
Could he see me watching him?
Should I go out there and say something?
Just then, my phone on the counter starts to vibrate. Quickly, I pick it up and let out a groan when I see the name.
Truett Goode
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
I bet I know exactly what my father’s calling for, and to be honest, I expected this, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared.
So, after a few rings, I swipe the decline button.
A moment later, I hear steps coming down the stairs, and my wife appears in her pajamas. She has that precious, sleepy look about her. Her hair is a mess. Her eyes still squint as if she’s not ready to fully open them, and she gives me a gentle smile.
“Morning,” she squeaks with a yawn.
When I see Briar like this in her purest and most natural form, without a hint of worry or anxiety on her face, it makes something in my chest swell.
God, I love her so much.
The day is still new, which means we haven’t erected that wall between us yet. Setting my coffee cup down, I reach for her, pulling her against my chest and planting a kiss against the side of her head.
“Good morning,” I mumble against her hair.
The voice in the back of my mind chants a familiar cadence—she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.
“I was hoping I would catch you before you left,” she says softly. I love the way it feels when she wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face into my neck.
“I’m glad you did,” I reply.
“How are you feeling today?” she asks. “With our new tenant.”
“Fine,” I reply, which feels like a lie. “I don’t really see how it’ll affect us.”
“Exactly,” she agrees. “It feels good to help someone out.”
