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She places the clean cup in the dish drainer before turning around to face me. She doesn’t look impressed with my declaration.
“What’s for breakfast?”
Her eyes narrow as she continues to look at me. “Whatever you make for yourself.”
“Really?” I growl. “Do you know how fucking draining it is to even get a fucking shower?”
“I imagine it’s about as draining as having to shave and wash and condition my hair all at the same time.”
Because I’m a pervert that can’t control his actions, my eyes dart to the apex of her thighs.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and she scoffs as if I’m living in some fucking fantasy world. I almost open my mouth to remind her that I could’ve had it if only I’d asked for it, but that seems like I would be taking things a little too far.
I can admit, even in my own irritation, how fucking cute she is with her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, her brows drawn together in a scowl. I also know that she wouldn’t find it amusing if I brought it up.
I move a little closer to her, incapable of fighting the urge to be near her. My head is a fucking mess, wanting me to keep my distance and needing to touch her all at the same damn time.
I thought she had the patience of a damn saint, but it seems I’ve pressed the right button to activate that petty, bitter side of her.
I can’t say I hate it completely, but I don’t like the way she’s watching me. I’m such a fucking hypocrite, asking for breakfast to be made and also getting pissy anytime someone offers to help.
“Listen,” I say as I inch closer.
“Don’t touch me,” she says, her voice filled with too many emotions to sort through.
“Brynn.”
“Don’t do that either,” she says as she looks away from me.
“Don’t say your name?”
“I can’t be Slick and Brynn. It’s one or the other. You’re giving me fucking whiplash.”
I let her words sink in, trying to get a full understanding.
Slick is the psychologist. She’s my teammate. She has my back no matter what.
Brynn is all woman, sexy and irresistible.
Is she telling me that Brynn could be mine, and the sacrifice would be leaving Slick behind?
“I’m sorry for what happened on Saturday.”
She looks crestfallen, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
I know she thinks I’m choosing Slick, but that needy part inside of me, the one desperate to feel like a fucking man rather than a victim of the situation I created, is too strong to ignore.
I reach out and cup her chin in my palm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you needed. I was selfish.”
Her eyes find mine, a spark of hope filling them.
This is the make-or-break moment. We’ve crossed so many fucking lines already, but it’s this last one that has the potential to have lasting damage.
Decision made, I inch even closer, having to pull my hand from her face in order to do so. I hate how fucking strategic I have to be to touch this woman. The walker between us isn’t exactly helping the moment.
I press my lips to hers, pulling back before she can deepen the kiss.
“What happened between us on Saturday was the highlight of my fucking month,” I whisper against her lips.
After my confession, I kiss her with real intent, allowing my hands to roam her body where all the other times we did this, I did my best to keep them to myself or on her hips.
Ignoring that part of me that is screaming out in warning, I cup one breast, leaving the other hand on my walker. Falling over right now would dampen the mood, and I’m going to try to take this as far as she’ll fucking let me.
Even with my hand gripping my walker tightly, I can still feel my body start to lean to the side when I pull my lips from hers and begin peppering kisses on her neck.
“Fuck,” I growl, more than a little disappointed with my lack of capabilities right now.
“Hey,” she says, the word a soft breath on my cheek. “Why don’t you go to your room?”
I drag my eyes back to hers, getting pre-mad at the pity I expect to find in her eyes, only it’s absent, lust and longing in its place.
“Are you joining me?”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Do you really think I’m going to let you get me horny and not do something about it twice?”
A huff of real laughter escapes my lips, and I realize I haven’t done it much lately with how foreign it sounds.
“Make sure you’re naked by the time I get in there,” she says before sliding to the left to move away from me.
I watch over my shoulder as she leaves the room, biting my lip to keep from groaning at the sight of her in those fucking leggings.
