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“Home is behind the barbershop. This is just temporary.”
“You know what I mean, kid.”
Bailey comes striding through the door again and beams at me. She jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Des is bringing milk over. I want cereal for breakfast this morning.”
I gape at my daughter, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Through the open doorway, I see the door across the hall open, and Des strides through. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, purple LA Lakers socks, and gray sweatpants, and yes, he looks great in them.
Damn him.
He knocks on the doorframe and lifts a gallon of milk like it weighs nothing. “I got milk.” His eyes snag on me, on the bird’s nest of my hair, then on my awful, stained, hole-ridden tee. Surprise lights his eyes, followed by a teasing, satisfied smirk.
My landlord’s gaze coasts down to my tiny sleep shorts that are barely any bigger than my biggest panties (which, to be fair, are pretty big), and his face takes on an expression I can’t read. He stares at my thighs for long enough that heat starts to build between them.
Des’s gaze lifts to my chest, and his body goes completely still. I glance down. My nipples are fully erect—and fully visible—through the fabric of my shirt. Naturally, I slap my hands over my breasts to hide the evidence. Then I try to kick the blanket up so I can wrap it around my mostly exposed chest, but I ram my toes into the corner of the coffee table on the way up.
That’s how I end up hopping around, saying,Ouch, ouch, ouch, with my hands cupped over my boobs.
“Mia!” Des starts crossing the space toward me.
“Don’t come any closer,” I say, breathing fire, still holding my tits. I drop onto the sofa and shimmy down so I can grab the blanket from the floor. Then I drape it over my chest and let out a long sigh.
I can’t believe this. This is Bailey’s fault.
It would be a lot easier to hate Des if he weren’t so hot. Or maybe I hate himbecausehe’s hot? I can’t tell. It’s confusing.
“Thanks, Des,” Bailey says brightly. “Can you bring the milk over here?” She’s in the kitchen, pouring cereal out and probably getting at least eighty percent of it into her bowl. I can hear pieces of cereal dropping onto the floor, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
I peek over the back of the sofa and wrap the blanket around my chest. But when I try to stand up, the edge of the blanket gets caught under my foot and I accidentally yank it down to the floor as I straighten, so I have to grab my breasts again to prevent another nipple emergency.
“Um.” Des tears his gaze away from me and hesitates in the doorway, then quickly strides across. He plonks the milk on the kitchen counter so hard it sloshes in the plastic jug. Then he nods at my kid, gives me one more lingering glance as I debate the merits of just saying,Fuck it, and dropping my hands to let the nips fly free—then Des walks out, flicking the door closed with the tips of his fingers.
I’m still rooted to the same spot on the ground, nipples poking out of my old tee and pressing against my palms, goosebumps prickling over every inch of my skin, face flushed, heart pounding.
Bailey starts humming, not a care in her perfect nine-year-old world. She glances up. I drop my hands.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announce. I stride to the bathroom and pause before entering, turning back to face my daughter. “You can’t just knock on people’s doors at seven in the morning, Bailey. I told you I’d get you some milk.”
She frowns, unscrewing the lid on the milk. “No, you said, ‘Give me a second.’ And plus, Des told us to knock on the door if we needed anything. I heard him with my own ears.”
“I don’t think he meant milk,” I growl.
Bailey blinks. “Oh. What did he mean?”
“Never mind. Don’t knock on strangers’ doors, okay?”
“But Des isn’t a stranger.”
“Bailey.” I use That Special Voice, and my daughter lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Fine. So should I keep this milk? If I can’t knock on the door, I can’t give it back when I’m done with it.”
Flustered, I just wave my hands at the fridge. “Put it away when you’re done. I’ll deal with it.”
Then I stomp to the shower, turn it on cold, and do my best to strip the heat from my skin.
My toe is really, really sore.
6
