Before I know it, she’s shoving the fluffy mountain into my arms and nodding her head toward the couch in the living room. The one Sherry is always perched on watching never-ending episodes ofNCIS.
“Good night, Dom,” Hannah says, her voice as soft as I imagine her curves would be if my hands had the pleasure of touching her.
“Good night, Hannah,” I answer, offering a smile and a nod in return. “Sleep well.”
“You too.”
Her bare feet tap across the hardwood as she heads back down the hallway that leads to her bedroom.
And I just stand there, like a fucking fool, shocked by my own disappointment in the anticlimactic end of this night and clutching the pillows and blankets to my chest.
I don’t know what I expected when she asked me to come inside. Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting anything at all. But I’d be an asshole if I didn’t admit a delusional part of me wanted to end the night with Hannah in my arms.
It’s fucked, I know. And I mentally curse myself as I walk over to the couch and drop the pillows and blankets onto the cushions.
Her reaction was the right one. No doubt about it. But my reaction? Well, it’s a clusterfuck of a million things I’ve been trying to avoid. Things I know Shane wanted me to face tonight at the station.
I try to tell myself it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’ve garnered some feelings for Hannah. I mean, she’s beautiful, smart, funny, adorable, strong as hell, and the kind of special that I’ve never experienced. She’s all the things I’ve searched for and a thousand other things I didn’t even know were possible.
She’s an enigma, and I’m the schmuck with a badge who was forced into close proximity to all her magic in the name of investigating a case.
I was doomed from the start.
I slide off my boots and socks and T-shirt, and even though sleeping in jeans is absolute shit, I choose to leave them on. Sleeping out here in my briefs while Hannah and her mother are a wall away feels like crossing another line, one I’m already too close to breaching.
Which is ironic, because the fact that I’m even in this house is the epitome of unprofessionalism.
I plop down on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.What am I doing right now?
Being an idiot, clearly. An idiot who is falling for the very last person he should be falling for.The thought grows nails and claws at my chest.
I’m all up in my fucking feels, damn near crawling out of my own skin, but the sounds of a door opening pull my attention from the floor to the bedroom on the opposite side of the kitchen from Hannah’s.
Sherry walks out, and the darkness from both the night and all the lights in the living room being turned off makes it hard to tell if she’s actually awake or sleepwalking her way around the house.
But when she stops in front of the couch, her eyes lock with mine, and it’s pretty clear she’s not sleepwalking at all.
“Hey, Tony,” she says, as if me sitting here in the living room shirtless near a pile of pillows and blankets is completely normal.
“Hey, Sherry.”
Once my eyes adjust to her figure in the dark, I quickly realize she’s standing in front of me in only her bra and underwear. Immediately, I avert my eyes, looking everywhere but directly at her.
“Ziva got that camera Gibbs wanted installed,” she says and even points toward somewhere in the kitchen. “You keeping an eye on it?”
“Yep.” I nod even though I don’t exactly know what she’s talking about. I can only assume that after what happened this morning, Hannah installed a new camera inside the house. If she did, I’m notsurprised. That woman takes on the world to keep her mom safe. She’s amazing.
“Get any leads on the Port-to-Port Killer?” she questions, and because of my current research into all thingsNCIS, I know she’s referring to an episode in season 8, when DiNozzo has to track down a killer who murdered his old partner from his Baltimore homicide squad days.
And you’re questioning if you’re in too deep with Hannah? Ha. You’ve been watching every episode of her mom’s favorite show that you can find ...
A part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“No, Sherry,” I eventually respond, trying my best to answer her questions but still not look at her. “I haven’t. It’s a tough case, you know?”
“I think you need to recheck that autopsy report. I have a feeling something is off with it,” she comments, clearly remembering the details of that episode like the back of her hand. Truth be told, it’s a typo in the original autopsy report that leads Tony DiNozzo to be able to track down the actual killer.
