Page 25 of Tight End

“I’ll be right there,” Ryan hollers from somewhere on the other side of the door.

Oh God, what am I doing?

My breath quickens and my heart races as anxiety laces its way through me. I don’t do things like this. I don’t move in with strangers. Who am I right now? Clearly, someone or something has taken over my body. An alien, a ghost, I’m not sure, but this isn’t me. I don’t need a place to stay, I need an exorcism.

This is hands-down the wildest thing I’ve ever done. The only other thing that came close was ... well, the one-night stand I had that resulted in Oliver in the first place. Ryan seems to be the common denominator here, which means moving in with him is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. There’s no way I’m getting pregnant again. Or married. Or tattooed. Or having sex with this wonderful and sexy man. Oh fuckkkkkkkkk—fudge. I’m already sliding down the rabbit hole.

I clutch my Target bags tight, giving Oliver what I’m hoping can pass as a smile, which he returns, hugging the T. rex to his chest.

Is there time to take it back? To tell Ryan his flowers and muscular shoulders put me under some sort of spell and I don’t need to move in here? That I don’t necessarily trust myself to be around him day in and day out?

No? Shoot. It’s too late.

Ryan opens the door, his entire face lighting up when he sees us, and I know I’m screwed. I’m not going anywhere. “Welcome to your home away from home.”

He grabs the shopping bags from me like they weigh nothing, like I didn’t struggle to carry them all up in one trip, because that’s what badasses do, and waves us inside his penthouse. His ridiculously expensive-looking and gigantic—at least as far as I can see—penthouse. I’m pretty sure I can fit my entire apartment in his living room.

This could be good. Really good. There’s a chance our rooms will be on opposite ends, and we’ll hardly have to see each other. Things will be nice and safe.

See, I was overreacting for no reason.

It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.

“I appreciate you letting us stay here until things get situated at my apartment. I can’t believe it flooded like that.” I squeeze Oliver’s hand, the both of us following him in.

“You’re doing me a favor. It gets lonely up here.” His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and I’m not so sure he’s joking. But before I can dwell on that thought, he’s weaving through the furniture, leading us past a floor-to-ceiling window, toward a flight of stairs. “Fair warning, it’s a bit of a mess. My assistant and I were setting everything up in Oliver’s room.”

Wait. What? “Oliver’s room?”

“I hab my own room?” Oliver bounces up the steps, the stuffed T. rex waving above his head.

Ryan nods, pointing down the hall to the first room on the right. “Right there, buddy.”

And Oliver’s off like a shot, rounding the top of the stairs, and leaving Ryan and me in the dust.

Ryan chuckles, dropping the pile of Target bags outside of an open bedroom before turning to me with a shy smile. “I should have warned you. I wanted him to have a place of his own when he eventually spent the night here. You know, clothes, toys, a place to sleep. Thought it might make him more comfortable. Jacob has been working on things since early this morning. Although, you might have to go through his closet and make sure we picked out the right sizes.”

The breath stutters in my chest, and all the doubts running around in my brain die down. Since early this morning? He said he wanted to be involved, he offered us a place to stay, but this, right here, makes it so much more real. He wasn’t doing this because my apartment flooded and we’re going to be temporarily housed together. No. He was working on this before my ceiling caved in.

Before he offered us a place to stay.

“Wow. I just . . .”

He studies my face, his bright-blue eyes holding me in place while he closes the distance between us. He’s not touching me, at least not yet, but the air around us is charged, thrumming with an energy I don’t understand. He reaches out, his fingers gliding along my jaw, and I do my best to ignore the butterflies going wild inside me. “I take care of what’s mine.”

His voice is rough, like he gargled broken glass, and as his thumb strokes across my cheek, I think my ovaries may explode. Which is very, very bad. There’s a riot in my brain, my neurons are short-circuiting, and I’m pretty sure I’mstanding here gawking at him instead of politely sayingthank youand running away.

Because no.

Stay strong, June, you haven’t even been here a full ten minutes.

He means Oliver, of course he does. He has to, right? But I can’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s talking about me too. While I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t have any desire to be his, God help me, I do.

See, when he’s around me, all my common sense flies right out the dang window. What is it about him?

I wish I knew so I could put a stop to it and fast.

Ryan is a good guy, and I have a feeling he’s going to be a great dad, but that’s it. Nothing else. Finito. There can’t be any more. My son is far too important to jeopardize any relationship he could have with his father. I refuse to put that at risk because I like how his skin feels on mine, how he says my name, how he’s already going out of his way to make sure our son is comfortable.

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