Page 125 of The Fix

Toby’s thumb feathers over my jaw, a lift to the corner of his lips. “Check your cocoa, Mama.”

“Oh!” Whipping around, I take the few steps to the stove and scrunch up my nose. “Dang.”

I stare down at the boiling pot, watching clumps move through the foam, the shaved chunks of chocolate still sitting beside it instead of melting into it. I nibble on the inside of my lip, the disappointment sagging my shoulders.

“Here.” Hands grip my hips and spin me until my chest collides with Toby's and a gasp escapes my lips. “Let me.”

Toby winks, his grasp guiding me to the side of the stove where he moves to take over redoing my cocoa, and I just stand there where he left me.

The bassist is making me hot cocoa in low riding jeans.

The same ones he wore when he snuck in through my window last night.

“Ohhhkay,” Aria drags out, drawing my attention. “I knew there was physical shit, but …” She blinks at me, her pointer finger fluttering between Toby and I. “When the fuck did this happen?”

“You didn’t hear?” He throws a smirk over his bare shoulder.

“Hear what?” Aria asks with a furrow to her brow and a tilt to her head.

“Last night,” Toby chuckles, and Aria snickers.

“Jeffers!” I scold and tap his bare bicep. “Where is your freaking shirt?”

His gaze drops to my chest, that’s covered in a black tee with a giant RHCP printed on the front and two sizes too big.

Busted.

“Where it should be,” he answers easily and turns away. “There, or on the floor.”

“Floor? Why would you want your clothes on the floor?”

The smirk that flashes over his shoulder in my direction is downright sinful. Add in the way his eyes rake down my body and his brow flexes, and I just …

“Oh.” If I was any more slack-jawed at his brazenness, I’d be mopping the floor with my tongue. “Can you not? I have a guest!”

“Don’t mind me, boo.” Aria snorts. “I’m here for the show. Plus, it’s nice to see someone else as bad as my husband.” She flashes me a wink that has me sighing at her disappearing back. “You have an hour!” she calls from the hallway and slams the door closed before I can protest.

“Here.” The scent of chocolate wafts through the air, and my mouth waters when Toby holds the steaming mug out to me.

“Thank you,” I mutter and accept the ceramic, his fingers grazing over mine in the process and sending little tingles up both of my arms.

I take a sip as he watches, his eyes so light it makes my heart ache with hope, and groan aloud when the rich flavor meets my tastebuds.

“I don’t understand how,” I mutter and stare at the contents like it might whisper his secret.

When I finally snap out of the trance induced by the warm gift, my gaze travels up Toby’s tattooed back, the muscles taut, and a wave of uncertainty washes over me. He stands in front of the coffee maker, the cabinet above it open, a mug set before him. Yet he remains still, his jaw clenching, his eyes fixed straight ahead. I follow his line of sight, only to freeze.

Oh, God, please don’t.

Toby’s hands flex as he wrenches his hardened gaze from the wine bottles next to the coffeepot and whirls toward me. His nostrils flare as if my presence surprises him, but the moment is fleeting. Within a heartbeat, he curls a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me close to him.

“Please don’t look at me like that ever again,” he murmurs into my hair, his arms going around my shoulders and holding me against his chest. “Two-hundred and thirty days, Mama.”

I clutch at his back, a tear escaping past my defenses.

“I’m okay, Anna,” he assures. “I’ve meant every damn word I’ve said over the last few months. Every voicemail. Every phone call and text message.”

The strength of my own voice surprises me despite its shake. “Even last night?”

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