“Ah, yes. The annual pilgrimage for her roses.”
That earns me another small laugh, and the tension slowly eases from his shoulders. He’s been through a lot the past few months with Max, his birth mother reappearing, and Story coming back into his life. Maybe it’s just residual stress, or Lando’s done something to piss them off. That’s the most likely scenario.
“How are things with Story? When’s the official move-in date for you to become my neighbor?”
He sips his coffee. “Not until Story’s finished the school term. It’s going to take us longer than a weekend to get everything in, and I want to redo some of the cottage.”
“I thought it had only just been done before Holiday moved in.”
Hendricks grins. “It’s not six-year-old proof. And he needs a room painted. If I put him in one with floral wallpaper and not rockets, I’m going to have a riot on my hands.”
I laugh. “It’ll certainly be quiet around here without him.”
“I guarantee you’ll be able to hear him once we’re next door. But I don’t want Story to move in here. It’s chaotic enough as it is. Plus, Lando and Holiday seem to take up so much room for two people who aren’t even here that much.”
I nod and peer around the vast kitchen, only a small part of the enormous house, but I can totally imagine their personalities taking over the place. And I understand Hendricks’s need for his own space. In fact, before Max came along, Hendricks and I lived together in the cottage. It was only then that he moved back home. Lando too. But so much has changed in the past few years.
“When do you think our big brother will pop the question?”
“Soon, I can’t see him wanting to wait much longer. But they’re in the city most of the time while Holiday is rehearsing.” He shrugs. “Maybe after that’s over.”
I don’t say anything, but I suspect Hendricks won’t be far behind. I glance at the thin gold band on my left hand, and it feels heavier today than it has before. There’s a tightness in my chest I can’t seem to shift. My wife is unhappy,ergo. . .
“Does that mean we’re all going to get dragged to watch her?”
Hendricks snorts into his coffee. We both share the same opinion of theater: best saved for occasions when sleep is needed. On second thought, maybe Ishouldgo. Sleep has been elusive of late. Being down the hallway from Ruby makes it hard.
Harder still after yesterday morning.
That fucking spider.
I want to say my body reacted to her because of adrenaline or some shit. But truth be told, I’ve woken up with a boner everyday since she moved in. I could put it down to the longest stretch without sex I’ve had in a while, but it’s not that.
It’s Ruby. All Ruby.
I can’t think about anything else. And fuck me. Seeing her storm into my room wearing virtually nothing but underwear, nipples protruding through her thin cotton top, the curve of her firm, round arse as she bent to pick up that eight-legged beast . . . let’s just say cold showers have become my friend in the last twenty-four hours.
The sexual tension between us has notched up several degrees, and the cottage isn’t big enough to sustain that level of heat. Kissing her only made it worse, even with the onslaught of photographers the last two mornings being more effective than an ice bucket over the head, all I want to do is kiss her again. Hear that soft little moan she makes.
“I’d say that was a given . . . anyway, you’ve got the Chatham Cup win under your belt, that’s something to celebrate, hey?”
I nod, reluctantly. Hendricks watches me curiously over the rim of his coffee cup. He knows that while winning the match was incredible, I’m struggling with the fallout because of my behavior. And I want to regret kissing Ruby, I just . . .don’t. What I do regret is creating a problem I should have anticipated, but didn’t.
I forgot this is all new to her, and it’s hard. I’m not used to feeling guilty, but I saw her cry yesterday and somehow that image has lodged itself beneath my ribs in a way I can’t shake.
“She’s more upset than she’s letting on,” I say, staring down into my coffee. “She’s worried about the visa situation and someone finding out.”
“How’s anyone going to find out?”
“They’re not.” I tell him exactly what I’ve been telling Ruby. “And they’re still having to prove it’s false.”
“Surely, that kiss the other day would put anyone off the scent.” He laughs, and I join in.
“Ithinkthat was what brought us to everyone’s attention.”
He looks at me, likeno shit. “It’s been, what, three or four weeks now?”
One month, three days, and eleven hours, to be precise. But who’s counting? “Yeah, about that.”
