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Since I appreciate his honesty, I let him off the hook. “We all grieve in our own way.” I swallow the lump in my throat before whispering, “I’m just glad you’re still here to help her through it.”
With my reply raising more questions, I smile before spinning away from him and unbuttoning my dress.
The door clanking shut trickles into my ear just before the cotton material slips off my shoulder.
I curse to hell my stupidity of deciding on an early night when I notice the time. My brain couldn’t comprehend my body’s need to rest, so it figured I was just having a nap. It isn’t even midnight.
I could cure my boredom by calling Amelia—she never crawls into bed before the rooster’s crow—but with her flirty texts with Thane raising her curiosity, I wouldn’t get anything more from her than a demand to sneakily snap his picture.
During our second self-defense class, I almost caved when Thane whipped off his shirt, but with Brodie having a near coronary and Lucy forcefully re-dressing her showboating uncle, it was more of a mental snapshot moment than a breach of privacy.
I also don’t understand why she’d want to tease herself like that. FaceTime is great for keeping in contact, but you can’t smell intoxicating scents like the one that keeps me awake at all hours of the night, or feel the heat of skin-to-skin contact. That can’t be replicated no matter how much sex toy manufacturers wish it could be.
Giving up on sleep, I kick off the bedding and slip out of bed. Maybe a glass of warm milk will convince my brain that it’s time to shut down. Overthinking hasn’t done me any favors lately.
My already sluggish pace down the hallway slows even more when I notice new portraits on the wall. The originals are still on display, but a handful have been moved down the wall to allow space for some new yet old pictures.
A smile stretches across my face when I imagine how excited Lucy will be when she wakes. Even though she was too young to remember her, she will not doubt that she has her mother’s eyes and golden hair. She can see it in every picture of them now adorning the walls.
When I detect I’m being watched, I slacken my smile before cranking my head to Brodie’s open bedroom door. His shoulder is propped against the doorjamb, his pajama pants are low-hanging, and he isn’t wearing a shirt.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks when my eyes finally reach his face.
I shake my head. “I thought I might have a glass of milk.” When he laughs, I ask, “What? It’s good for shutting down your brain.”
“Because it clogs it with sugar.”
His laugh loudens when I stick out my tongue. It is an immature response, but I’m fighting not to drag it along the ridges in his midsection, so my tongue popped out before I could stop it.
“Come on. I’ve got the perfect remedy.”
Goosebumps rise on my neck when he bands his arm around my shoulders and guides me down the hallway. Considering we’re in the middle of July, I shouldn’t feel as cold as I do when he frees me from his grasp as we reach the kitchen.
I watch him curiously when he removes a mug from the overhead cupboard and fills it with tap water.
“Water? Your solution for sleep deprivation is water?”
His grin makes my insides clench. “It’s not just water. It’s warm water.”
“So, a hot chocolate minus everything that makes it good?”
God, I wish he’d stop smiling. The number of times I had to straddle his lap this afternoon already has my horniness at the highest level it’s ever been. I don’t know if I can handle another cheeky grin. “Quit whining and try it.”
When I poke my tongue at him for the second time, I realize that the tension isn’t one-sided. He adjusts his crotch while dropping his eyes to my mouth.
Desperate to dampen the fire raging through me from his hungry watch, I pick up the mug and gulp down half of its contents. “It doesn’t really do anything. It’s just…” A big yawn gobbles up my words. “What the hell?”
Brodie refills my mug before drinking from it himself. After wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “Drinking hot water keeps you hydrated, eases congestion, improves digestion, and reduces stress so well your body thinks you just had a super long bath.” The reason for the curve of his lips makes sense when he murmurs, “Most people get groggy in the tub.”
Air whizzes from his nose when I sock him in the stomach. “And most people knock before entering.”
“The door was open,” he defends.
“Because I wanted to make sure I could hear Lucy.”
His confession knocks me in a good way. “She’s crazy about you.”
