“Whoever you were just talking to.”
Bathroom was empty. I turned and pushed open the door on the opposite wall just as Lo shouted and shoved me out of the way to slam it closed again.
Too late.
Too damn late.
“What has gotten into you?” she snapped.
That time, I didn’t need to ask her the same damn question. I knew what had gotten into her.
A pink silicone toy.
One that was still sitting on the folded towel on her tiny bed.
That image, and the ones it inspired, were a permanent addition to my brain, but I pretended I hadn’t seen it. I tried to, at least. I was still staring at the door like I could see through it, but I managed not to ask about it.
Or demand to see a demonstration.
“There’s no one here,” she said. “What’s your problem?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I went with evasion. “Did you borrow that bed from a jail cell?”
She scoffed. “I wish. That thing is worse than the couch.”
“Don’t think that’s possible.” Realizing how badly I’d misread the situation, I finally looked at her.Reallylooked at her.
Christ, she was gorgeous.
Her long hair was in a bun, but not the tight kind at the back of her head. It was gathered in a messy bundle at the top with freed pieces that framed her flushed face. She had headphones around her neck, but before my brain could fully process them, my focus dropped to her shirt.
Or rathermyshirt.
I knew it was my flannel thanks to the blood stains and the tear in the arm that happened during our mutual tackle. The sleeves were rolled out of the way, but the oversized shirt still hung halfway down her thighs. Much to my disappointment, her legs were covered by a pair of floral pajama pants.
I couldn’t believe she’d kept it.
And wore it.
Was she wearing it when she played with her pussy?
Was she thinking about me?
Imagining it was me making her come?
I looked back at her face in time to catch her flinch. I assumed she was embarrassed about stealing my shirt, but that wasn’t it.
“Sorry,” she rushed out. “Shit. My bad. Something happened here.”
“What are you…” My words trailed off when she hurried away from me like I wasn’t even there.
I followed her into the living room and watched her carefully set her gun on the table—within reach, of course—before snatching something off the couch. No longer on the hunt for the fictional man, I finally paid attention to what was happening.
A video game.
She was playing a damn video game.
I’d seen the console while I’d waited for her to get dressed the week before, but I hadn’t given it much thought.
