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I’m halfway to the stairs, but I’m intrigued, so I come back. It might be nudes. Laminated for easy cleanup. Or better yet, it could be her.
She hands me an old-school hockey mask.
I laugh and put it on. Not as good as laminated nudes, but I’ll take it. “It was your fault I shot myself in the face.”
“Sure it was,” she says, giving me a knowing look as she walks into the kitchen, stretching her arms over her head. For a moment I’m dazzled by the muscle in her arms and the grace in the way they roll as she moves. I want to learn every inch of her body with my hands, my tongue…
I push the mask up into my hair and shake myself. Time to go before she catches me staring at her like a creep.
“Have fun,” she calls out. “Make sure you stretch first.”
I start up the stairs. “I don’t know what you think I’m doing that requires stretching.”
“Exactly why I’ll be Googling pegging.”
I miss a step, landing on my knee.
Pain blooms, but I hardly notice as Mina dashes from the kitchen toward me.
I hold up a hand and she skids to a stop. “Don’t,” I snap, getting back to my feet. “I’m fine.” Christ, I missed a step at the idea she might want to peg me, I’m not in danger of passing out or breaking a hip.
She presses a hand to her chest and takes a deep breath. “You scared me.” Not an accusation, not exactly, but—
Oh.
OH.
A piece of the puzzle that is Mina slides into place. “I scare you,” I say softly.
This time, she doesn’t deliberately misunderstand me. Her eyes are saucers and when her mouth fails to produce any words, she nods.
She has feelings for me that go beyond friendship, but she’s holding back, too scared to open her heart to me.
She’s scared of a lot of things, but I didn’t think I’d be one of them. I’ve done everything I can every step of the way to prove to her she’s safe with me and whether deliberate or not, she hasn’t seen it.
How can I fix this? I’ll need to think about it. Good thing I’ve got thirty minutes of me-time to noodle on this problem. Well…twenty-five after I jerk off because let’s be honest. She’s going to google pegging.
“You’re not paying attention,” I tell her, turning and walking up the stairs.
Chapter sixteen
Mina
Timothyaccusedmeofnot paying attention and three days later I’m still irritated. The moment he walks into a room he yanks all attention to himself—he knows I’m not immune to that, so what the hell?
Even now, when all he’s doing is sitting at the table, quietly eating his Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I’m paying more attention to him than I am to the coffee I’m making. When I spill a little on the counter, I blame it on his thighs sticking out from his shorts. They’re thickly muscled and one is a canvas for a trio of watercolor stallions.
His other leg won’t stop bouncing. I want to straddle him to make it stop.
So yeah, I’m paying attention.
I sit across from him and immediately wish I’d stayed in the kitchen.
He’s wearing a sleeveless T-shirt today and the Kraken tattoo on his shoulder comes to life every time he reaches for his orange juice. Maybe my fixation with his arms has to do with his restorative hugs and how familiar I am with the feel of them wrapped around me. Or maybe I’m deluding myself like my life depends on it, because it does. Or my heart does, anyway.
Timothy glances up and catches me looking. He doesn’t scowl or look upset, something that’s happened a few times since he came home from the hospital. He looks contemplative.
He finishes his cereal and gets up to bring his bowl into the kitchen. It takes a monumental effort not to watch him. The way he moves through any space is fascinating. I don’t typically do menswear, but for him, I’d take up suit-making.
