Page 116 of Only Between Us

My little thief, stealing the heart right out of my chest.

Chapter39Brooks

One day, far into the future, someone will ask me to pinpoint the best moment of my life.

I’ll tell them I was lucky enough to have thousands of my best moment.

Just me, Pete, and our Siena.

Every single day, at seven fifty-five on the dot, Siena skips down the stairs at home, freshly showered and dressed down after work. She trails that sweet scent of hers into the open living room–kitchen. Pete comes for her at a run. She ducks at the last minute, letting him assault her with puppy kisses before grinning over at me in my spot on the couch.

I’m looking cool and relaxed with my feet up on the coffee table, and not at all like a man who just spent the last couple of hours pacing the house because I couldn’t wait for her to get home.

Siena gives Pete a final kiss on top of his head, which he accepts with the posture and wagging tail of a very good boy. He’s come a long way since the day I picked him up from the rescue, all skittish and distrustful of humans.

He’s just like us, isn’t he? Passed over and waiting for his people to claim him.

“Brooks?” Siena gets to her feet.

“Hm?”

“You’re staring.”

“And you’re pretty.”

She shakes her head, smiling to herself. “How was training today?”

I arch my back in a stretch. “Not bad. We’re ramping things up to get me ready for training camp.”

“Should we ease off, then? Are those extra hip thrusts tiring you out?”

“No. They’re vital to my training. Absolutely critical. Quitting now would set me back months.”

She sucks in her cheeks. “Yeah?”

“It would ruin my career. You wouldn’t want to be the one who kept a four-time all-star off a roster, would you? Think of the fans.”

My skin sizzles in the nicest way, watching her move around the kitchen. She fills up the kettle we adopted from her apartment and lays out two colorful mugs, also from her place. She loops the tea bag strings around the handles to stop them from splashing into the water.

She’s at home here just a week and a half in, and I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.

I’m a tea drinker now. This herbal kind, with turmeric and chamomile, that she always has after work.

I hate it.

Hate it. It’s equivalent to pouring hot tar on my tongue. But I’ll choke down a gallon of it a day if it means I get to keep watching her twist those little strings on a mug handle.

I bought this house at the tail end of a depressive bender, shortly before moving back here to coach at UOB after what felt like one long, dark night. I was at my absolute lowest, but doing my best to come out of it.

It was just somewhere to live. A roof over my head with a ton of land out back, for the dog I figured I’d adopt and pour my energy into.

Now, though? I think this house might be heaven.

Siena puts our steaming mugs on the coffee table and drops next to me on the sofa.

“Hand me the goods, Attwood.” She holds out both hands, curling her fingers greedily.

She’s so fucking cute.

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