Page 3 of Stick Break
But I ask anyway. “Do you actually have a rental here? Are you really in the wrong place?” She stares into her coffee cup like it might offer an excuse she hasn’t thought of yet. “Just tell me the truth.”
She finally lifts her eyes to mine. They’re raw now—sad and tired and real. It hits like a puck straight to the ribs.
“No,” she says quietly. “I broke in. I needed somewhere to go. Somewhere to…disappear.”
She drops her gaze again, distant now, like whatever she’s remembering is darker than she wants to say.
I watch her in silence. Then, “How long do you need a place?”
What the hell, man. Show her the door. This is a terrible idea. And yet…I don’t move.
Her eyes flick to mine, wide and uncertain, but there’s hope there too, and it’s that glimmer that dissolves what little resolve I have left.
“A week, maybe.”
I exhale. “There’s only one bedroom room.”
“I’ll take the sofa,” she blurts, like she’s been rehearsing that exact concession. “I’m sorry you had to sleep on it last night.” She walks over, bends to pick the blanket up off the floor.
And my sweatshirt rides up.
Way up.
White panties.
Bare legs.
Jesus.
I clamp my jaw tight, fight a groan as my body reacts like I have got zero self-control. Which, apparently, I do. She straightens and turns, totally unaware she just turned my brain to static.
“I really didn’t know anyone was staying here,” she says.
I roll one shoulder, a stiff ache radiating down my arm. “Yeah, well…” I groan softly as the knot protests.
“You’re stiff.”
Jesus.
She flinches. “I mean…your shoulder.”
“I know what you mean.”
“That couldn’t have been comfortable. And it was really sweet of you to let me crash in your bed.” A smile ghosts across her lips. Soft. Real. The first I’ve seen. “It was just right.”
I bark a laugh. “Sure. And I’m guessing the oatmeal was just right too.” I grab the bowl and spoon, carry them to the sink.
“At least I didn’t break a chair,” she offers, playing along.
“Or the window. I think it was painted shut.” I glance at her.
She frowns. “I don’t recall Goldilocks breaking a window, but I’m not up to date in my childhood fairy tales.”
“Right, same. Do you know the owners?”
She nods. “Yeah. Paisley and I have crossed paths a few times. I knew she was out of town, so I?—”
“Broke in. Yes, we’ve established that. Gunther and I—” I catch myself before saying we play together. The last thing I need is for her to connect the dots. “We’ve crossed paths, too.”
