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“Me?” Bowie scoffs, pushing to his feet. “Fuck, no. I got my hands full enough with Boomer.”
Just then the guy sails in, fresh out of the shower. “What about me? Also, I’m fucking hungry. And horny.Horngry?But I’m tired too. Any chance of reconsidering theno bunniesrule at our place? We couldorder in.”
Bowie shoots me a weary look and shakes his head. “See?”
I cut out of the locker room and head straight for the garage, my mind on Stormy and how different things are with her. How different I am.
It was never like this with Jess. When we were together, I’d thought maybe we had that comfortable silence thing people talk about, but I realized I was actually more comfortable alone. Some boyfriend I’d made. I couldn’t even get worked up about the fact that she broke things off when I was injured. With my ability to play again in question, it didn’t leave me much to offer.
Of course, knowing what I know now, that fracture was the luckiest break of my life.
I shake the thought off.
Because it’s different now. Stormy and I get each other. We’re a team. And for the past few weeks, we’ve been on thesame pageevery night I’m not traveling and first thing in the morning.
In the shower.
On the island.
And once in the back seat of the new car I got her as a Valentine’s Day/early divorce settlement gift.
But it’s not just the sex. Hell, it’s the non-physical stuff that has me doing double takes at my own life more than anything else. I can’t get enough of her. The trips to the fish market and the Nike store and that little coffee place she found a few blocks down. The mornings when she sits at the island with her coffee, reading me snippets from the news as she scrolls through. The way we talk when I’m on the road. The way we laugh.
If we were the kind of people looking for forever, I might want it with her. But then if she wanted forever, she’d deserve a hell of a lot better than me.
But I’ve got two years before I need to think about that.
When I get home, Stormy’s waiting for me.
She’s on the thinking couch, wearing my Slayers T-shirt, the one I wrapped her up in that first night she stayed here. Only tonight, her long legs are bare beneath it.
“Hey, gorgeous. Miss me?”
I close the door behind me, already toeing off my shoes and dumping my shit on the entryway floor, watching as she uses her pretty painted toes to nudge at a mug set out on the coffee table.
“We should talk about who’s going to get this,” she says in a low purr. “I mean, weacquiredit as a couple.”
The mug came in a thank-you bag from a bone marrow registry drive I was volunteering at with Grady last week. But I’m curious to see where she’s going.
“Yeah?”
She bites her lip and nods. There’s this sexy combination of sensual hunger and playful light in her eyes as her legs shift restlessly together. It’s making me so hard it hurts.
“Mmhmm. And since we’re getting a divorce in two years… we should talk about who’s getting it. I mean, if we’re stillon the same page. Right?”
I grin, reaching over my shoulder and grabbing a handful of my shirt to pull it over my head. It hits the floor with everything else.
I growl, stopping in front of her. “You dirty-divorce-talking me right now?”
She hooks a finger in my belt loop, tugging me closer as she angles to lie back. I plant my knee on the cushion between her legs, and she runs her hands over my chest.
“Is it working?”
I nod. But then she could be reading me the grocery list and it would work.
I bunch her T-shirt as I draw it up. Over the lace between her legs. Higher, past her ribs and the mouth-watering peaks of her perfect breasts. All the way, free of her raised arms so she’s stretched out beneath me in nothing but that single scrap of provocative red.
“You get the mug.” Like anything else she wants. Like everything I’ll be able to get her to take.
