Page 16 of Sinful Sorrow

He picks up the pillow Minka was using—his pillow—and gives it a bit of a shake to plump it up once more. But he looks across at me and smirks. “I have an alibi. Lix taught me to always have one, even when I’m the one killing folks.”

“Lix was a terrible parental figure and we both know it.” I turn again and start away, careful not to bang Minka’s feet on the framework. “Don’t leave before I have a chance to talk to you. Besides, Moo is coming over for breakfast.”

“That stinky, booger eating, annoying little brat? That Moo?”

I snort and continue into our room. Because we both know Cato Malone is the world’s softest uncle and adores the shit out of a little girl who stole his heart.

“I don’t want her here! I don’t even like her.”

“Liar.” I kick our door closed and allow my eyes a moment to adjust to the new darkness. Thankfully, the blinds are open and Tim’s neon light illuminates half of our bedroom.

“Archer?” Minka’s sleepy, soft voice makes my heart swell. But I don’t give her a chance to wake up and screw her night over. So I move to the bed and gently lay her in the middle. I’m careful not to jostle her, and when she curls in on herself, I drag the blankets up and give her something to cuddle into.

I’ve become accustomed to coming straight home and dropping into bed.

I’ll shower in the morning.

I’ll brush my teeth twice as vigorously to make up for my negligence tonight.

And I’ll throw my clothes into the hamper… tomorrow.

For right now, I unbuckle my belt and unsnap my jeans. I push the zipper down, and right after it, the thick denim that keeps me warm on the cooler nights as we zoom through the Fall. I drag my shirt up and drop it to the floor. And finally, in just my boxer shorts, I pull the blankets aside and climb into bed behind my wife.

Turning on my side and draping my arm over her chest, I drag her in until she becomes my little spoon and the scent of her shampoo trickles into my nose and down to fill my lungs.

I’ll wake up again in six hours, and if I’m lucky, she’ll still be asleep then, to make up for the rest she should have prioritized earlier tonight.

“Goodnight, Minnnka.” I press a kiss to the ball of her shoulder and grin when she releases a soft, whimsical sigh, even in her sleep. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

MINKA

Iwake with a cold back. With goosebumps racing along my spine and my eyes opening to a new day. Sleepiness makes my brain tick slowly. Exhaustion makes my thoughts sluggish. But then reality comes galloping to the forefront of my mind and realization is like a lightning strike to my mind.

I twist on the mattress and frantically search for my husband.

Because I fell asleep without him last night. And now, as I press my palm to his side of the bed—not entirely cold, but not warm either—I wake up without him, too.

“What the hell?” Grumbling, I sit up and spy the pile of dirty clothes on the floor that prove he was here. Then my ears prick and the sound of the shower answers the rest of my questions.

He went to sleep later than me and woke earlier. Which means he’s mentally sunk into a case and his mind won’t let him rest until it’s done.

Swallowing to lubricate my throat, I glance to my left and find my phone sitting on the bedside table. Already on the charger. And right beside it, a cup of coffee I know I didn’t put there.

But this is what he does.

He’s a fluffer, like Aubree said.

Glancing down at my clothes, I scowl when I find myself still dressed. My tank is twisted and my pants are squeezing. But what becomes most apparent of all is the fact I’m not naked.

Why am I not naked?

It’s literally Archer’s MO.

Cranky, I toss my blankets aside and set my feet on the floor, then pushing off the mattress, I tiptoe through the door and pass an angry, snow-white cat who sits outside the bathroom in the hall, her legs tucked beneath her body and her eyes intent, almost as though she can see through the wood.

I keep my steps silent. My movements, undetected, and padding into the living room, I look over the back of the couch and confirm Cato is still here. Asleep. Completely unconscious and humorously too long for the small sofa. His legs hang off one end, and his hand dangles on the floor.

It’s hardly a suitable sleeping arrangement for a growing athlete. But in our defense, he chooses this. He could stay in Archer’s old apartment just a few blocks from here. Or Tim’s next door. Or hell, there’s a whole Malone mansion in this very city, sitting empty but with a dozen adult sized beds in it.

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