And now I lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every second. The way he wiped cinnamon from my lip. The way he held my hand. The way hedidn’tkiss me. Maybe I imagined the heat. Maybe I misread the shift. Maybe when he said“Not like this”the other night, he meant not at all. The thought settles somewhere ugly in my chest.
I sleep like crap, but the sunlight pouring through the blinds softens the morning. I hear him moving in the kitchen before I get up. Coffee grinding. Cabinet doors closing. He’s up first. Again.
When I walk out, he looks over his shoulder and smiles like nothing in the world is complicated. He’s in a pair of loose sweats that sit low on his hips, and nothing else. I avert my eyes in hopes of not making my attraction to him obvious by staring, which is the least of what I want to do. He flashes a quick smile. “Morning.”
There’s coffee already poured. A plate with the last muffin. He slides it toward me without commentary. He’s steady. He’s at ease and comfortable. “Dean texted.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his toned arms not helping one bit in the trying not to stare effort. “They’re doing lunch. You haven’t seen Sadie all week, right?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Figured we’d go over for a bit. Some sister time will probably be good.”
He says it casually, but I note it. He’s still taking care of me. Still being the good guy. And the stupid, reckless part of me wants him to stop. Because now I want the bad boy. The one who would lift me onto this counter and slam his mouth over mine.Where’d he go?
“That sounds nice.” I say instead, and smile around my mug as I take a sip. “I just need a quick shower if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” He pushes off the counter and turns, opening the dishwasher to place his empty mug inside. I stare at his back, the muscles rippling like soft waves as he performs this mundane task and the urge to get up and wrap my arms around his bare torso slams into me.
Instead, I pop off my stool, coffee sloshing over the side of my cup as I do, Mikey spinning around, his brow furrowing as his gaze focuses on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I manage to squeak out, then clear my throat. “I’m going to go take that shower.”As cold as I can possibly take.
“Okay.” He scratches at the scruff on his neck as he continues to assess me as I scurry away, my cheeks heating under his scrutiny.
Dean’s place smells like garlic and sauce and something suspiciously like apple pie baking when we walk in. Sadie hugs me immediately. “What in the hell happened to your face?” Her expression a mask of concern as she pulls back to study my face.
“Work. A kid who reached his limit.”
“So, he decided to take it out on you?” Her tone now angry.
“He didn’t mean to hurt me. He threw a chair and it hit me.” I defend as I step out of her embrace.
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to work there?” Her fingers reach up and gently brush against the bruise on my cheek as I pull away.
“It’s safe.” I pat her on the arm. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes dart behind her.
She narrows her eyes slightly, then glances over my shoulder at Mikey. He’s already in the kitchen with Dean, laughing about something. Sadie doesn’t miss the way my gaze lingers.
“Oh.” A single brow raising as a small smile quirks up on one side of her mouth.
“What?” I deflect.
She loops her arm through mine and drags me toward the hallway. “Talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Quinn.”
I sigh. “He’s been really good to me this weekend.”
Her eyes widen. “Define good.”
“Not that kind of good!”Unfortunately.I giggle, shaking my head. “After what happened at work on Friday, he helped me through it, and then we went to the art institute yesterday.”
She blinks. “Mikey voluntarily walked through impressionism?”
“Yep.” I squeeze her arm. “And I think he actually enjoyed it a little.”
“Wow.”
