Page 27 of Perfect Pitch

Something resonates as wrong with the image his words present. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Shoving my hand through my hair, I begin to enumerate all the reasons that was a mistake.

The sun rises over the Hudson before Trevor throws up his hands and announces, “Stay, go. But I’m getting some sleep.”

“I’ll stay. If I’m not here in the morning...”

“Yeah, it’s because you got paged by your super important job. Think about this, Mitch. Your job means everything to you, so much that you’ve walked away from important things in life.”

“Like what?” I challenge.

“Like me. You have no idea who I am anymore. Maybe that’s why Charlie sent you here.”

Dumbfounded by the statement, he slaps me with another one. “Why can’t my life be as important as yours, even if it doesn’t mean being prepared to throw my body in front of someone to save them?”

Trevor storms down the hall to his room before slamming the door shut behind him.

It isn’t until after I find the words to respond, “No one said it had to, buddy. All I want is for you to be happy.”

But I guess I’ll have to wait for him to wake up to tell him that.

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE NEXT MORNING

I’ve dated women both older and younger than me. Want my opinion? Ten years from now, you won’t remember who was older in the relationship. If they’re important to you, what you should remember is them.

—@PRyanPOfficial

I’m woken by a high-pitched squeal. “You’re coming? I’m so excited! Send me the details on when your flight is.”

Lifting my wrist up, I groan when I realize it’s only ten—just about four hours since I fell asleep on my brother’s couch. I slide my phone from my pocket and am grateful to find there are no text messages from Beckett, my team lead, or anyone else involved in Beckett’s protective detail.

Light footsteps on the hardwood are my cue that Austyn’s left her room. “I really don’t want you staying in a hotel; why don’t you stay here?” A pause. “Please. I’m not a slob.” Then, “Okay, fine. I’m a tornado in my personal space, but I’d clean for you.”

The excitement in Austyn’s voice combined with these promises make me curious about who she’s speaking with. I lower my wrist and then wish to hell I hadn’t. Decked out in a camisole and boy shorts, the sight has me reaching for one of the throw pillows and I shove it between my legs. What was a standard morning wood has quickly turned into a full-on erection seeing how little the sleepwear hides her creamy skin, upturned breasts, and coltishly long legs.

Christ, she has a fantastic ass. How in the hell did I not notice this last night? I groan.

The sound obviously travels because Austyn whips around and our eyes collide. There’s a break in her conversation while we do nothing more than breathe. Whispers of possibilities transmit from each of us to the other. The spell is broken when she turns her back to focus on her call. I shudder with relief, shifting uncomfortably beneath my minimal shield of fabric. Certain I’m going to have a zipper imprint on the back of my cock, I reach beneath the pillow while her back is turned and press down. Hard.

Austyn prattles on as if our connection means nothing. “Mama, I forgot we have a houseguest. No, Trev’s brother.” A longer pause. Then something inside my ribs shudders at the enormous pleasure the words being spoken through her cell must bring her. “Oui. Toujours. Je t’aime, aussi.” Always, I love you too.

Austyn disconnects her call before murmuring with her back still to me, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

I sit up. “I’ll let you make it up to me if you tell me you know how to brew coffee.”

A snort of laughter escapes her lips. “I wouldn’t be able to function without it. It’s why I left my room in the first place.”

“Nice to know we have something in common,” I remark.

“Coffee and your brother. I’d say that’s a good start.” She flashes me a smile even as she begins measuring grounds for the basket.

After flipping the switch on, she reaches for two ginormous mugs. I don’t bother trying to suppress a grin when I ask, “How much coffee can those hold?”

With all seriousness, she states, “About a half a pot if you want cream. Anything less isn’t a mug, it’s a snifter.”

At that, I can’t hold back a bark of laughter.

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