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I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I was afraid of that.”
She waits for me to elaborate. When I don’t, she asks, “Is there anything else you need?”
I think for a moment. “No. That’s all. Carry on.”
She gives me a distrusting look but turns around to grab more ingredients from the fridge. With her back to me, I grab a cookie from the pile on the Santa plate.
Surely, she won’t notice justonemissing, right?
When I get back to my room, I sit down at the desk, feeling no more motivated than I did ten minutes ago.
Teddie seems to be the common denominator when it comes to why I can’t write anything, but it’s just because she’s always around. If I try to write when she’s not, I’m sure I’ll be able to bang out at least five chapters in one sitting. I’ll do it late at night when she’s sleeping. I’ll even be able to use the kitchen counter, so I have more space to spread out my notes. I bite into the sugary confection I just swiped.
If there’s ever a moment when Teddie’s not using it for cookies, that is.
6
Teddie
The house is dark and quiet, with the only illumination coming from the warm, amber glow of the stove light. The still of the night makes the ticking of the grandfather clock across the room seem much louder than it actually is. It’s late. Well, technically early morning, since it’s after midnight. I’m sitting at the bar in the kitchen, researching the menu I want to prepare for tomorrow. Even though I have the most energy in the morning, I do my best thinking at night. I’m sure it has to do with how silent and calm the world is at this time. It’s relaxing and puts me at ease.
I’m scrolling through a chicken recipe when I hear a faint creak. A smile spreads across my face when I turn around and see Nate walk out of his room with his laptop tucked under his arm.
Fresh from a shower, his damp hair is slicked back. It gives me a clear view of his gorgeous face, and my breath catches in my throat. His black tank top hugs his body, showing the contour of his chiseled abs.Where does a writer get abs like those?And his muscular arms are displayed in all their mouth-watering glory.
But all of that I can ignore. I can pretend it doesn’t turn me on to see his biceps flex as he pushes his hair back or imagine how his bare chest would look if he ripped off his shirt. I mean, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks anyway. But I’ve pushed down my growing attraction to Nate because it’s unprofessional, and I don’t want to freak him out.
That being said, what really gets my heart pumping is how he struts out of his room with a sliver of his toned stomach peeking from under his shirt. Coupled with low-slung sleep pants that showcase the sharp V of his hips, I have to force my gaze away from where that V is pointing. Yet, when I look up, Nate is frowning at me.
My face flames, and I’m about to apologize when he grumbles, “You’re here.”
I tilt my head, and my eyebrows cinch together. “Well, I live here.”
“No.” He shakes his head and rubs his eye. “I mean,here. In the kitchen, at—” He glances past my shoulder to look at the clock on the stove. “Almost two a.m.”
I clear my throat. “Of course. A lot goes into running a VRBO, you know.”
He keeps staring at me like I have two heads. “But I mean…” He looks around, seemingly defeated. “Do you sleep here or something? Is there a pillow hidden in the dishwasher that I missed?”
His joke catches me off guard, and I laugh. He also seems surprised at my amusement, and his face softens.
“No,” I tell him, tucking my hair behind my ear. “But that’s not a bad idea. I’ll have to look into some waterproof pillows.”
He shifts his laptop to his other hand. “I ask because I’ve nevernotseen you in here. Are you getting enough sleep?”
I blow a raspberry and return to my laptop, clicking a new recipe link. “I sleep… Dad.” I snicker.
“Clearly not enough,” he scoffs from somewhere behind me. “How are you so alert? And perky? Is it drugs? It’s drugs, isn’t it?”
I roll my eyes as I scroll down the webpage. “Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s methamphetamines,” I sing to the tune of the familiar cosmetics commercial. When he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, I get paranoid that he didn’t catch my sarcasm, so I turn my head to assure him. “I’m joking. I don’t do dru—”
The rest of my sentence dies on my tongue when I notice he’s come so close behind me that I can smell the bergamot of the shampoo he used. He glances at my laptop, but then he blinks, and those dark eyes are on mine. I thought his eyes were a deep brown, but up close, I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises. He’s so beautiful it makes my chest ache, and my gaze dips down to his lips.
I want to kiss himis the only thought that ricochets around in my head.
When I look at him again, I’m genuinely worried that, for a split second, he can read my mind because his eyes areburning. His stare is so intense that I swear the few centimeters of air between us spark with electricity.
I suck in a shaky breath, inadvertently inhaling more of his delicious scent, and my pussy throbs. The world is frozen for a few moments—or maybe it’s hours—until I feel like I’m about to burst.
