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We are just friends for now.
Tucker’s voice and talent soothe my tired brain like a lullaby, together with the darkness of the hallway, eventually tip me over into the Land of Nod.
And then I get woken with a start.
Twenty-Seven
NEVER DOUBT A SECRET SANTA GIFT CAN COME IN HANDY
Tucker
Playing the last notes to the song on the piano in the dimly lit room, I rest my hands on my bare thighs, rotating my shoulders to roll the kinks out.
How did I wind up in my music studio before the sun came up? I can blame it on the sexy, gorgeous houseguest sleeping in my bed without me sharing the same space. After the afternoon’s activities, my mind led me into some filthy dreams, and I couldn’t have dirty dreams in my big sister’s bed.
From sometime after 4 a.m., my attempts at sleeping became futile. I needed a distraction from lying awake in bed. And I found it in the form of musical therapy because my feet begged me to walk up to my floor and enter my bedroom. Then my brain chipped in—ever helpful—with the idea of slipping between the sheets and spooning Ophelia. No doubt happy-to-see-you morning wood would come along for the ride, poking her bubble butt. And what sort of trouble would that get me in?
This whole idea of the non-date and meet-the-family were my spontaneous ways of seeing if Ophelia and I have a deeper connection than witty banter and physical appearance. It backfired on me. Now that I have kissed Ophelia, seen her naked, licked her—I wantallof her. Stat! I want to show this woman more of what is under my cocky layer. I want her to know me as the man who will protect her and keep her safe. And the brother who will defend his sisters with his life and the guy who will be the best husband one day.
Yeah, I am getting way ahead of myself, but that’s what dreams are for.Right?You just gotta make them happen, and I am working on it. It is all about goals, and Ophelia is my main goal. My start and finish line.
While Ophelia had her afternoon nap, my gym time yielded some creative ideas, which I’ve already set in motion to let Ophelia know I am thinking of her while we are away in Alaska.
That cousin of hers and his wife, sure are handy allies to go to bat with, even coming up with some ideas of their own.
Go, team!
I never imagined feeling this way about a woman so quickly within meeting her and how soul-deep it feels. The connection is real.
I know she needs her space, but I will miss our verbal sparring and banter and just miss her. There will be no promises, but I will come for her eventually. If she proves she honestly doesn’t want me, then I will leave with my tail between my legs.
Ten weeks is better than waiting a year.
Looking up for the first time in nearly an hour and a half of studio time, I notice the small green light above the door is glowing, which means somebody has been listening to me, and my guess is Alice.
She is typically a heavy sleeper but having Ophelia here and seeing Mom and Dad tonight probably made her restless, unable to sleep right through.
I walk over to the door in just my navy sleep shorts because I got hot from singing and playing for so long, so I stripped down to get comfortable. Opening it, I expect to find Alice sitting, leaning up against the wall, but Ophelia’s body flops to the ground with a startled yelp as her green eyes fly wide open.
“Hey, Shagspeare.” I crouch down, looking at her upside-down confused expression. “Whatcha doing out here by yourself? Are you pining for me already?” I whisper, conscious of keeping my sisters asleep.
“Huh? No. I am not here by myself.” She struggles groggily to her feet.
“Yup—” I look around her up and down the dark hallway. “—you are. Can’t stay away from me, hey Shagspeare?” I amsogoing to miss this woman.
“Teagan was here with me, but now she’s not,” she whispers back with a scowl. “I was getting milk from the kitchen to try and get back to sleep when Teagan led me here, and we… um got caught up listening to you.” She folds her arms, tilting her chin at me, waiting to hear a smartass comment rise from my lips, the blanket messily hanging down in front of her to cover her bare legs.
“Oh, we are gonna play this game, are we? I think not, Spitfire. Fiction might be more convincing than reality, but we both can’t sleep for one reason: you were sleeping in my bed, and I wasn’t there waking you up with my mouth.” I swiftly turn the volume down on the outside wall panel. “We have already tested those waters, which we both enjoyed, but we were interrupted.”
“I’m not playing a game, Royal.” More scowling.
I point to her. “You and I have unfinished business. No hollering, Shagspeare.” Without warning, I bend at the waist, scoop her up over my shoulder, walk backward into my studio, spin around, shut the door until it softly clicks closed.
To her credit, Ophelia stays quiet, which can only be a good sign for things to come.
Forget what I said earlier. I’m all in now.
I fiddle with the inside wall panel, ensuring the red light comes on. I don’t want my sisters listening to the sounds of the songs our bodies are about to compose.
