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Or the way he thrust—
God. Damn. It.
Nope.
Not going there.
I’m better than this. I’m stronger than this.
I pull out a letter, desperate to get my head back in the game.
It’s all your fault. Everything. You lied. You never came back. And now my life is over. I’ll never be the same.
I throw the letter as if it’s on fire, all thoughts of anything carnal gone, replaced by pure fear.
The truth is, I’ve been careful what letters I’ve read.
I’ve sorted these so many times. I know which envelope goes with which memory, and I’ve purposely left that one in the box.
Right now, after the incident at the bar, him touching me, I can’t go back to the past. Not there.
I can’t accidentally let my brain think about all that again. I need to do something. Anything that can help take my mind off it. The only problem is, it’s one in the morning. I can’t sleep.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, I pull back the fluffy cream duvet and step out of the bed.
The floor is cold, so I grab a pair of socks from the dresser before I head down the hall.
Maybe I can find a snack in the kitchen. Something comforting. Soothing.
It’s funny, I have barely had time to check out this place despite my curiosity. With the game schedule, we probably won’t be here all too often, but that doesn’t change the interest.
From the moment I stepped into Aiden’s private space, I’ve wanted to explore every nook and cranny. Inspect every item on every shelf. I want to know him. This Aiden. The man he’s become since leaving me behind.
I swallow, shaking off that thought.
It’s eerily quiet as I head toward the kitchen. The fluffy cotton on my feet keeps my steps silent, which is good because I’d hate to wake him. His schedule is nuts, and he needs his sleep.
But when I turn the corner, I startle.
There he is in the kitchen, and what I find knocks the breath from my lungs.
Aiden Slate is standing with his back to me, in low-slung gray sweatpants, shirtless.
He must hear me because he pivots, lifting a brow when he sees me. But my eyes wander from his face, down his firm chest, over his well-defined abs, like some kind of oversexed voyeur. I swear drool is leaving my mouth, and I’m instantly embarrassed by myself.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he says, leaning back against the counter.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”
I narrow my eyes, finally taking in what he’s doing. A sponge is in his hand and cleaning spray is on the counter right beside him.
“Are you cleaning?”
He purses his lips. “The kitchen was dirty.”
Something tells me it wasn’t. But knowing what I know about Aiden, it wouldn’t matter if it’s sparkling. His need to clean will overpower any other thoughts in his head.
A memory flutters in my brain.
