Page 16 of Good Girl and Grinches

The laughter amongst friends helps me believe that everything will be fine. By the time we part ways, I’m fortified, prepared to resume my life, and eager for Ghost and Ruckus to get home so we can assess possible paths for a future together. I don’t want to be the only non-HEA from the auction.

I’ve convinced myself that there’s a way for my stepbrothers to get their promotion and have a life with me. Geez, stepping into the cool night air, I question if I’m being as dreamy as Betsy again.

Love does crazy things to your brain. Well, maybe not love… but hormones. Yes, hormones do crazy things.

The hairs on the back of my neck raise. I instinctively look across the street. Just as my gaze finds a man looking at me, or at something close to me, the man turns away and ducks around the corner.

Am I delusional to think it was Ty? With the man’s scarf pulled high, his knit hat barely above his eyes, and approximately a half-second assessment, I can’t be sure.

I’m supposed to call Flame, but my car is only a few spaces away. I pull my keys out of the front pocket of my purse, get in my car, and drive away. Then, giving myself a few seconds to catch my breath, I do something I never do—take out my phone and make a call while I’m driving.

All I tell Flame is that I’m calling as promised. Then I make up a bunch of things to ask him… eggnog versus cider, flocking versus tinsel, and even the question I despise but know Flame will have an opinion on… Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?

He’s a good sport and switches from his intense Peloton bike class to a scenic ride program so he can keep up with my chatter my entire drive home.

And he never makes me admit that I need—want—my big brother to protect me. I cherish that.

Once inside, I lock the door and check the other exterior doors while Flame finishes the ride and takes a shower.

I brew a cup of chamomile tea, but my skin still crawls. Logic tells me I’m being ridiculous. The man across the street wasn’t Ty. The cold weather explains his covered face. The quick duck behind the corner could’ve been a number of reasons. And he didn’t follow me. I’m safe.

“I’m heading to bed.” I stand up from my end of the couch. Flame is sprawled on the other end, watching the weather channel. Another blizzard is headed our way. Rough year.

He flashes his trademark grin. “Sweet dreams.”

Dreams. Right. My ceiling becomes a movie screen replaying every creepy moment with Ty. The way he touched me at the auction. His possessive grip. The hostile glares at my stepbrothers.

Two hours later, I’m still wide awake, clutching my comforter. I hop online and look up checklists related to relationships and sex. My eyes have been opened, and I like it. I want to see if a penis really can—

A crashing sound makes me bolt upright. My rational brain knows it’s the wind blowing tree limbs against the house. The enjoyment of the internet is gone. I don’t want to be alone.

Screw this. I pad down the hallway to Flame’s room, hesitating before knocking softly.

“Sabrina?” His voice is thick with sleep.

I crack open the door. The light from the hallway spotlights his bare chest as he props himself up on his elbows.

“I had a bad dream. Can I sleep in here?”

His brow furrows. “Sabrina…”

“Please?” I twist my hands together. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, clearly weighing the request. “It’s not a good idea.”

“I’ll behave if you will.” I try to lighten the mood and edge closer to the bed. And my attraction to him is tainting my words with a possible lie. I hope that he won’t behave.

What’s gotten into me? Am I worried about Ty or just looking for an excuse? My whole body is transforming around him. My nipples are sensitive. I’m more emotional. And I find myself believing I belong with Flame, with all of them. It’s weird. I need to keep that last part to myself.

A long sigh escapes him and he scoots over, patting the empty space on the mattress.

I crawl into his bed, and he surprises me by curling up behind me, pulling me into his chest. Does that count as misbehaving? His arm drapes over me, a comforting weight. “Sweet dreams, Sabrina,” he murmurs into my hair.

His warmth envelops me, and soon, I’ve drifted off, and am waking up to the faintest glow of sunlight creeping around his curtain. The only difference is the hardness pressing against my back.

He mumbles something I can’t make out. So he’s a sleep talker, good to know. Even better to know… he’s asleep, which gives me such a naughty idea, I agonize over it for at least four more mumblings from him, the last of which I swear he says, “Play nice. Daddy’s never done this.”

How can that singular barely discernable mumble spark an inferno in me? Daddy? He doesn’t have kids. Never done what? So many questions. Is it wrong to assume he’s dreaming about me?

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