“How about I handle clean-up in the kitchen,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice sending vibrations straight through me, “while you go relax? You’ve done so much for us this weekend. You need a break. Let me take care of you.”
“Relax?” I ask breathlessly.
“Yeah.” His lips brush gently against the shell of my ear, making me suck in a sharp breath. “We can watch a movie together and eat our dessert.”
That sounds nice except I want way more than to eat cake with Seth on his couch. I want him to touch me again. To kiss me again. To treat me like he did that first night we met when he didn’t know who I was.
“Okay… I’ll just get settled—” I step out of his arms toward the living room.
“No.” His gaze is serious. “In my bedroom.”
Oh.
Oh,hell yes.
“Okay.” Play it cool.
He smiles then nods at the dishes on the table. “I’ll take care of these.”
I hesitate for half a second before moving toward the stairs, but I pause at the bottom step. “But… what about Sawyer?” I hope I don’t sound presumptuous but I’m also not ready for his daughter to find me in her dad’s bedroom without an explanation.
“She’s exhausted,” Seth murmurs, shaking his head. “I can tell. She’ll be in her room all night and asleep within the next hour. Go. Relax.” He turns to the table and starts stacking plates.
I practically sprint up the staircase.
When I get to Seth’s bedroom, the door is cracked open just enough for me to peek inside. The space is clean and masculine just like him. There’s a massive king-sized bed dominating the center of the room, covered with a dark grey comforter that looks like it would swallow me whole. With how exhausted I am from yesterday, I might like that.
The walls are bare except for a few random paintings of the beach and what looks like might be a west coast sunset, but the furniture is all classic and oak.
In the corner, a sleek desk sits neatly organized, with a stack of books carefully arranged next to his laptop. Across the room, an open doorway leads to a massive en-suite bathroom, and holyhell. I think there’s a clawfoot tub in there. A gorgeous one that looks like it belongs in a five-star spa. And tucked in the corner… A portable ice bath?
Of course. Seth’s an elite athlete. Recovery is everything.
Wow, this place is nice.
The whole room smells like him—clean, masculine, and a hint of that cologne that makes my knees go weak every time I catch a whiff. I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling a little out of place, then scoot back until my spine is resting against the heavy headboard, one that I’m sure wouldn’t collapse under Seth’s weight.
Okay… now what?
Do I get under the sheets? Take off my clothes? Is that what’s happening next here? I have no idea. My heart pounds as a wave of self-consciousness hits. I’m still a little sweaty from playing volleyball with Sawyer and it’s not like Seth told me we were going to have sex tonight. He said‘relax, watch a movie and we’ll eat cake.’
He also said we need to talk. Which we do. We totally need to.
I scramble off the bed, feeling bad for even thinking about dirtying up his sheets, and move to the desk in the corner instead. Pulling out the chair, I take a seat, running my fingers lightly over the smooth surface. It’s warm. Lived in. Like everything in his life carries a purpose, including the carefully chosen books sitting in a neat stack beside his laptop.Three parenting books—each one focusing on different gentle parenting techniques. And the fourth is a book about raising teen girls.
My heart clenches.
Seth is putting in so much effort.How many single fathers go this far to understand their child? To make sure they’re doing everything they can to be the best parent possible? To overthinking every interaction until they feel sick that they’re getting it all wrong. It’s certainly more than my dad ever did.
I blink, pushing that thought away just in time to catch Seth in the doorway watching me. Arms folded across his big chest; there’s the ghost of a smile on his mouth. He’s still in the same clothes he wore last night when we slept next to each other, his shirt slightly wrinkled and shorts hanging low on his hips.
Is it possible that I’m romanticizing every encounter we have? Totally. And is there a chance that spending time together outside of working at the Mayhem or caring for his daughter will eventually destroy me? Also, yes.
But it feels like it’ll be worth it.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling a little sheepish as I glance up. “I realized I was sweaty after I sat on your bed, so I moved over here. I wasn’t snooping.”
“I wouldn’t have minded if you were,” he says softly, and before I can process that, he’s crossing the room in just a few long strides. He sets two slices of the cake on the desk in front of me before running a flat palm across the surface of the oak.
