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So I cannot also touch Theo’s silky soft skin right now, no matter how much it’s tempting me to do so.
This is strictly business. I have a plan, and dunking Angus aside, I’m going to damn well stick to it.
Now, the only problem is…Theo herself.
She hasn’t yet gone into her bedroom. Actually, she’s lingering in the hallway, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.
And Theo in this moment…looks extra goddamn cute. She’s been out in the sun all day, so she’s burned across her nose and shoulders, just enough to turn her pink. Her lips are plump and heart shaped, and her face is heart shaped, too, with those big blue eyes gazing up at me, vulnerable and soft…
That same errant strand of hair has slipped out of the messier-than-usual beachy bun on her head. It’s like it’s daring me to tuck it behind her ear.
Theo’s hair is sleek and dark, but this little piece has gone curly and wild from the salty sea air.
It dances in the breeze from the open windows throughout the house.
It’s like we’re back on that boat, in the sun, when I had all the excuses in the world to touch her…
But we’re not.
We’re here. All alone in this big empty house.
So I shove both hands in my pockets and bite down on my lip.
“Sleep tight.”
Theo blinks and sucks in a breath, her face closing up.
“Right,” she says, shrinking back into her room. “You, too.”
I stand there in the hallway, looking at her closed door.
It feels like Theo hasn’t moved inside the bedroom. Like she’s standing on the other side, doing the same thing as I am.
Jesus, I’m losing it.
I hustle off down the hall.
At around 2:00 a.m.,I hear scuffling in the kitchen.
It isn’t noisy enough to wake me up, but I never actually fell asleep. I’ve just been lying here, tossing and turning in the dark.
I know it’s Theo, and the fact that she’s awake is cheering. Usually when I’m sleepless and alone, I stay that way until morning.
I pull on a pair of sweatpants and shuffle out to the kitchen, flattening my hair on the way.
Theo is just turning around, arms full of everything she’s pillaged from my fridge. She shrieks and the food goes flying. She manages to save the carton of eggs with a pretty impressive catch at knee level, but the block of cheese bounces off her toe.
“Ow!” she howls, hopping around on one foot, still clutching the eggs.
I hold up my hands. “It’s just me, not a burglar.”
“There’s not going to be any burglars,” Theo says. “I locked your door.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping somebody would take that shitty couch.”
Theo sets the eggs down on the counter and retrieves the cheese.
“I was going to make scrambled eggs,” she says apologetically. “When I drink, I get hungry again later.”
