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I close my eyes, a five ton weight on my shoulders.
She turns and starts picking up branches off the ground, and he goes back to cutting, both of them working together in happy unison. But I see her turn to mouth something at me with a cocky little smile.
It takes a moment to register what she said.
Jealous yet?
I can’t help the snarl that escapes as I flip her the finger and then turn around, walking away from the window. Damn her. She won’t do anything. She thinks I like him. She’s just trying to piss me off.
I pull the collar of my T-shirt away from my body, every inch of my skin fee
ling irritated. I need a breath.
Walking over to the stove, I turn off the burner and leave the kitchen, jogging up the stairs. I enter Cole’s and my bedroom, pull some clean clothes out of the drawers, and leave, walking across the hallway to our bathroom.
But as soon as I step inside, I stop, seeing the mess Pike has made. The tub is ripped out, the valves are disconnected to the sink, and there’s debris all over the white tiled floor.
He’s still renovating. I forgot.
His bedroom door lays open, and I can see his bed straight ahead, the headboard against the opposite wall as I walk toward his room. Every time I’ve passed through here to get my showers this past week, it’s felt awkward. Being in his room alone.
I don’t snoop, but it’s tempting.
His bed is always made. A little haphazardly, blankets just tossed back up in a rush, but I can’t help but be a little taken back. If not for my stepmom, my father’s bed would never be made.
Heading for the bathroom, I see the pictures of Cole from birth to senior year portraits lining the frame of his dresser mirror. A flat screen hangs on the wall, it’s power cord dangling and unplugged. A model schooner sits on his bureau with only a light layer of dust on the white sails.
And an old watch with a worn leather band I’ve never seen him wear sits in a dish on his dresser. There’s no other jewelry anywhere.
Aside from the bed, the two dressers, the TV, and the bedside tables, the room is minimal. Nothing on the walls, of course, one black lamp with a gray shade, and a strong afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the partially open blinds.
I hate that he lived here alone for so long. Someone needs to spice this place up. Not my sister.
Swinging the bathroom door closed behind me, I lock it and reach into the shower, turning on the water. I set my change of clothes on the sink counter and strip down, pulling out a towel from the shelf and hanging it on the hook outside the shower.
Jealous yet? I shake my head, my ire rising again as I step into the shower and close the glass door.
I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to see her push him around like I know she definitely can. So much is a game to my sister, and she hides her insecurities behind flighty behavior and sarcasm.
Pike’s not like that. He needs someone calm. Someone who knows how to keep him calm.
Someone who can wrap their arms around his neck and make the rest of the world disappear.
Tipping my head back, I wet my hair and close my eyes, feeling the heat of the water pound my shoulders and neck. Chills spread down my arms, and my head suddenly swims with the pleasure of the warmth.
Turning around, I plant my hands on the wall and roll my head under the spray, finally coming back up and leaning against the wall behind me as I push my hair back over my head.
My stomach curdles. If Cole wasn’t in the picture and Pike came into the bar one night and sat on a stool and talked to me…I’d like him. I’d really like him.
I’d want him.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. God, my sister is right. Something is happening. It’s been happening, actually. Does everyone else notice, too? Does he notice?
Shit.
Opening my eyes, they immediately fall on his body wash ahead of me sitting in the caddy. Cole usually uses Axe, but he hasn’t pulled his stuff out of the other shower yet, probably just using his dad’s Irish Spring.
I cast a quick look toward the glass, making sure I’m alone, and pull the bottle off the rack and pop the lid.
