Page 69 of Splintered Hearts

Noah beams, pulling the comforter down and showing me the fox I drew on his side. Gorgeous. Shit, the drawing ain’t bad, either. Now, the day after, I can see a few things I would have changed. I nearly ask him to let me fix some stuff, but I let it go. It’ll be washed away within a couple of days anyhow.

Slowly, I let go of his coffee-colored comforter. “We slept together.”

“Literally, yes. Figuratively, uh, you were not in the right mind. I don’t care that you do what you do, but if you were to do me you’d be doing it sober.”

Noted.

No! Not noted. I wouldn’t be doing that. “You kissed my chest.”

“Would gladly give that another go if you need a refresher.”

“It’s gross.”

“It’s skin, babe. Seriously. I mean it. I’ll do it again if you want me to. I’m a saint like that.”

Little fox.I shake my head, lying back down and scrubbing my face. I will say that despite the nightmare I just had, I slept damn well. “What time is it?”

“Uh, nearing ten. I woke up, went for a jog, showered, and you were kind of twitching and whimpering. Something about Cisomething.”

Cici.

I swallow thickly. “Sorry I slept so long.”

“Oh, please. By all means. I don’t have to work again until Tuesday, so I’m going to do nothing but sit on my gorgeous ass and read all day.” I look to the nightstand, seeing his book.

“That what you’re reading?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see?” He hands me the book. A hockey book that I’m sure has little to actually do with hockey sticks and more to do with the sticks in the players’ pants. The cover model’s hot though. Reading the back, I frown. “Enemies? Why are they enemies?”

“Well, you see. When Blake was in high school he had this best friend, and one day they kissed and then Blake kind of had a little baby-gay freak out and pushed him. So he’s heartbroken and his mother homeschools him—”

“Because of that kiss?”

“There was more to it. Anyway, years later, in college, his friend transfers and they have to play on—you’ll never guess—”

“The same tea—”

“The same team, I know!”

Honestly, it does sound interesting. “Can I read it?” Noah gives me a lopsided smile, grabbing the book with his forefinger and thumb.

“You see, I’m reading it now but this is actually book four. You need to read the others.”

“I have to read three others when I just want to read this one?” What the hell? “But this one sounds good.”

“One sec.” He throws off the blanket and my eyes move across the room to anywhere Noah isn’t. Fuck. My eyeballs are traitors though, drifting to Noah standing in front of the pile of books on his dresser. My eyes darken, dipping down to the pair of lacyblack bikini briefs he’s wearing that barely contain the delicious swell of his ass.

Reaching under the covers, I squeeze my dick.

He joins me back on the bed, but doesn’t cover himself with the blanket. The memory of him in that shower will haunt me. How could someone be this beautiful?

Trouble. Noah is fucking trouble. “Here.” He hands me a book. “When you’re done, help yourself. They’re all on my desk until I can get a good bookshelf.” I read the back of this one and it sounds okay. “Just please keep it in great condition. I’m particular about my books.” My eyes lift to the mess inside this room. Clothes are everywhere. The makeshift vanity he’s got is piled with bottles and makeup. There’s a pink lock box on the floor, and a pile of tulle—for god knows what—is on the floor next to a bean-bag chair that takes up most of the floor. “My reading poof.”

“Reading . . . poof.”

“Where this gorgeous ass will be parked for the next six to eight hours, only taking breaks to use the little girl’s room and eat.”

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