Page 50 of Hot Shot

When I came home Monday morning and saw what she’d done with the room, I stopped dead in the threshold and gawked for a long minute. All these little details she chose one by one in the hopes they’d make it easier for Cricket. Judging by Cricket’s sleepy smile, I think it worked.

Cass closes the book when she reads the last line of the chapter. Cricket groans.

“One more chapter?”

“It’s a school night,” Cass reminds her, booping her nose before she climbs out of bed.

I do the same, but off the foot. When Cass moves to the bookshelf to put the book away, I step to the bedside and pull the covers up to Cricket’s armpits. She takes off her glasses and hands them to me, watching me with big eyes as I set them on her nightstand and kneel. Her arms pop out of the covers, her hands folding on her stomach. I cover them with mine.

“What else can I get you before bed, kiddo?”

“Nothing, I think.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything, me and Cass are just down the hall. Normally, we sleep with doors closed, but until you’re ready, we’ll keep them cracked, okay?”

Her brows click together. “How come?”

“It’s safer in case there’s a fire.”

Cricket’s face flickers, and I curse myself.

“You don’t have anything to worry about here. Remember, that’s my job.”

“To stop fires?”

“To keep you safe.”

Her face softens, and she wears a small smile that makes me feel like a king. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I echo, leaning in to kiss her forehead as I stand. I’m not sure why. It just feels like the right thing to do.

The way she’s still smiling at me, so small in her bed, confirms that it was.

Cass and I back out of her room, reminding her again we’re close by and to come get us if she needs anything. I leave the door half open, as promised.

We release a simultaneous sigh as we walk the short distance into my room, then fill the space between us with details about when we have to wake up, what time we have to leave, what’s in the kitchen for breakfast. All the while, I brush my teeth and Cass gathers her pajamas. On confirming that I don’t need in the bathroom, she closes herself up inside, and I’m alone.

I empty my pockets into the dish on my dresser where my wedding band used to live, now back on my finger for the foreseeable future. The sounds of Cass brushing her teeth keep me company as I tug off my shirt, then my pants, plugging in my phone before climbing into bed. My gaze catches on the small pallet Cass made for Cricket. For a moment, I’m a stranger in my own home, sitting still and awkward against the headboard, the covers in my lap. Waiting for my wife to join me.

The number of full nights I’ve spent alone with Cass could fit in one hand. If you count the ones that include access to a mattress, there is approximately one—the night we got married in Vegas. Strange that tonight we’ll share a bed, but I can’t touch her.

God, how I fucking hate it.

But the fact that she’s here at all is the mother of all wins, and for that, I’m the most grateful man on earth.

As I’m waiting, I imagine the next few minutes. Wonder how I’ll handle seeing her walking toward my bed in those silky green pajamas she took in there with her. Maybe she’ll tease me, offer me a smile. Slip into my bed and turn her back to me. Then, somehow, I’m supposed to sleep. Feels impossible. Seems like?—

The door opens, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath when it bursts out of me in a laugh.

Cassidy Winfield struts out of the bathroom looking like a silken monster, hands on her hips as she strikes poses. Her hair is tucked up in a lumpy, hot pink satin bonnet, with a black eye mask pushed up on her forehead. Under her eyes and beneath the eye mask are some sort of shiny patches like she’s at a spa. Her lips are a weird shade of bluish-purple, and when she smiles a plastic mouth guard is on full display.

I cannot fucking stop laughing.

Cass pops a hip and flips imaginary hair, and I do my best to ignore the jiggle of her breasts, nipples hard in the silky tank. When she speaks, it’s impeded by the mouth guard. “I know I’m hot, but keep your hands to yourself.” Drool threatens—when she slurps saliva back into her mouth, we lose it. She drops the act, taking off her mouth guard as she climbs into bed next to me. Our cheeks are pink and high.

I’m indescribably happy.

“Sorry, I had to,” she says around giggles, setting the mouth guard on the nightstand so she can situate herself in bed.

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