Page 100 of Skate the Line

I blink, and suddenly my head pounds again. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, and my breath catches. I take a deep breath, hopeful she mistakes it for annoyance rather than what her eye roll actually does to me.

I stare at the clay figure a little longer, noticing two large eyes and the most delicate markings on the entirety of it. Is that a?—

Sunny’s phone is suddenly in my face, and I can’t help it. I laugh.

“The green lizard from Ellie’s favorite movie?” I ask.

“Not a lizard,” she corrects me. “A chameleon!”

God, why is she so perfect?

“Ellie is going to love that,” I say. “What’s the occasion? Her birthday isn’t for another six months.”

Fuck, isn’t Sunny’s birthday soon?

She beams with warmth. “I told you I like to make people happy. I figured it’d put a smile on her face.” It will. “And I miss working with my hands.” She thinks for a moment. “I miss painting too.”

Good with her hands? I push off from the counter and put some space between us because my mind goes right to the gutter.

“You still need to teach me to braid.” I throw the empty bottle of Pedialyte into the trash.

Her back is facing me again, and I can’t help but let my gaze skip down to her tight leggingsagain. She bends and grabs the paintbrush, using it to color the lizard’s—I mean, chameleon’s—tongue.

“Tonight,” she says, too focused to glance back at me.

“Tonight?” I repeat.

This time, she pins me with those big brown eyes. “I’m going to teach you to braid, so rest up and rid yourself of that hangover.”

I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looks pleased with herself. Her coy smile forces me to turn and head upstairs to rid myself of a lot more than a fucking hangover.

Thirty-Three

SUNNY

I wait patientlyon the couch and run my fingers through the strands of my hair. It’s still damp from my shower, but I figure working with damp hair will be easier for Rhodes.

Before he carried Ellie on his back to put her to bed, I made him sit beside me on the couch to watch me braid her hair. He sat quietly with his heavy brow folded, concentrating on the steps. Our elbows brushed, and surprisingly, I didn’t jolt away.

Heat pooled in the quiet parts of my body, but the nerves that usually cause me to act like a spaz didn’t rear their ugly little heads, which is both a comforting and worrying thought.

It’s all because of those pesky thoughts I had last night with his drunk-texting. Once he explained himself, it left me feeling like one of his past nannies. I made up this entire scenario in my head thathewas the one who wanted to rid me of my fear by erasing some other man’s touch.

Talk about being absolutely delulu.

A thrill moves through me when I hear his heavy footsteps descending down the stairs.

He appears a moment later, and I quickly dart my attention to the TV, which just so happens to be showing a hockey game.

Gray sweatpants are hung low on his hips, paired with a black T-shirt and a backward hat.Seriously?He has every right to change into something more comfortable, but doesn’t he know the rule about gray sweatpants?

They’re simply not allowed unless you’re trying to draw attention to a particular area.

I refuse to look.

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