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“A woman who enjoys food that much.”
“In my defense, I’ve been living on pantry staples for a while now. There’s only so many times you can eat plain oatmeal with peanut butter before it starts to disgust you,” I added as he tossed another piece of meat to Miranda. Samantha, not so food motivated, had eaten a bite of cheese and meat before heading back to sleep in front of the door.
We finished up the food and I cleaned up while Sway got ready for bed, using my spare toothbrush and floss because the whole climbing in my trunk thing had been sort of a last-minute move, and he hadn’t been prepared for it.
Which was exactly why I shouldn’t have been surprised when the bathroom door creaked open, and he walked out without his shirt. Though, thankfully, he’d kept on his jeans, even if he’d undone the button.
It had been clear that the guy was well-built even fully dressed—the corded arm muscles under his tattoos, his strong chest.
But knowing that and seeing it bare were two completely different things. And there seemed to be no way to keep my eyes from moving down his chest and torso, taking in more ink, as well as the little indents of muscles as I went.
“All yours,” Sway called, making my guilty gaze shoot up to his face.
He was looking right at me.
There was no way he missed me checking him out.
He was kind enough not to mention it, though, as I hopped up so fast that Miranda jumped up too, alert, ready to fight off any attacker in the room, before I placed a hand on her head, calming her down.
I, having a change of clothes, brought them into the bathroom, taking a quick shower as I tried to remind myself that I’d scrubbed the thing with bleach, but couldn’t quite shake the heebie-jeebies until I was out and dressed in a clean t-shirt and shorts, thankful not to have to sleep in a bunch of layers for the first time in a while.
I was fully clothed, sans the bra that I would never sleep in, but felt oddly naked as I made my way out into the room, as Sway’s gaze moved over me like mine had moved over him, and I wondered if he was imagining what was hidden from his view.
“Nice ink,” was what he said, though, making me look down at my own arms.
One arm, a tribute to my dad in a way, was a biomechanical piece. The other was an homage to my own interest in weapons—one of my first modified guns forever inked into my skin, even though I’d sold it off years ago.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding.
“Do you have more?”
“My back,” I told him.
“Like one on your back, or a back piece?”
“A back piece,” I told him.
The look in his eyes said he wanted to see it. The tattoo. My back. Both. But he tamped that look down.
“Nice,” he said instead. “TV off or on?” he asked.
“On. Otherwise, the dogs don’t sleep well. They wake up at every little sound.” I hadn’t been able to leave anything on at the cabin, risking running out of whatever solar we had stored, and they jumped up when a damn leaf fell, I swear.
“And the light?” he asked.
“On.”
Always on, when it was possible.
I wasn’t afraid of the dark, per se.
Just the real-life monsters who could hide in the shadows.
“If that’s alright,” I added, aware that for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just my and my dogs’ needs to think about.
“Baby, I once fell asleep on a pool table during a party,” he told me, grinning like he was proud of that story. “What time do you want to head out tomorrow?”
“Ten?” I said, pulling my blanket up over myself and Miranda while Samantha chased a squirrel in her dreams by the door. “Miss rush hour, but still get back to my place around dinner time.”
I passed out surprisingly quickly, only waking when Miranda practically walked on me to get off the side of the bed.
Rolling over onto my side, I watched as she looked up at Sway’s bed, then climbed up with him, a move that made another head pop up.
Samantha was in bed with him.
When my gaze slid back to Sway, I could see the playful light in his eyes, the boyish smile toying with his lips.
“Don’t say it,” I said, shaking my head, feeling my own smile tip up.
“I kind of have to, given the current situation,” he said, reaching over to absentmindedly pet Miranda. “The bitches love me,” he said.
“Ugh,” I grumbled. “You actually said it.”
“You loved it,” he shot back.
Then, as if further proving his point, Samantha—the hardass of my dogs—leaned over and rested her head on the man’s stomach.
Leaving me, a few feet away, in bed alone, to feel jealous of my damn dog.
