Page 49 of Test the Ice
I head for the master bedroom.
Maybe I should get donuts for breakfast—a little ‘just engaged’treat to tease Reese.
I turn the knob to my room.
Wait, do babies eat donuts? Do they have teeth yet? I don’t even know how old Reese’s daughter is. When I texted Daisy and asked her, she told me to ask Reese and followed it with achicks before dickstext.
Very immature.
Almost as immature as my follow up text:bros before hoes.
I pull out my phone and shoot a quick message to Rhodes.
Me:
Do babies eat donuts?
He texts back before I even make it into the room.
Rhodes
You’re a moron.
The room is dark, and my eyes have yet to adjust. I reach for a light switch, searching the wall, but come up empty-handed.
“Where the hell is the light switch?" I mutter, angling my screen toward the wall for light.
A gasp comes from somewhere in the room, and I quickly turn around in the direction of it. My elbow hits something soft,and suddenly, I’m in a vortex of confusion with a yelp, blinding light, and a looming, headless figure coming right toward my face.
“Fuck.” I form a fist and punch whatever is attacking me.
A loud thud comes next, and I lurch backward, bumping into something else. I twist, and my hands fly forward to steady the next thing falling toward me.
My eyes adjust, my palms warm from Reese’s skin. She stands there in the skimpiest pair of pajamas that I have ever seen. The tank top ends above her belly button, and my hands remain wrapped around her bare waist.
“Jesus.” I glance over my shoulder to see a tattered mannequin laying on the floor, now with lopsided mounds for breasts from my attack. “What the hell is that?”
Reese shakes her head to clear the damp hair from her face. “What are you doing here?” She's breathless, and it takes just about every ounce of respect in my body not to drop my eyes to the cleavage peeking out from her tank top.
I raise a brow. “I live here…with my fiancée.”
Her long eyelashes flutter with confusion. “No, I…I know,” she stutters. “I mean…I thought you had a game.”
“Sometimes we fly back through the night.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drops to my hands still wrapped around her.
Mm, right. I remove my hands from her warm skin and bend to pick up my victim. The headless mannequin is wobbly when I place it up right.
“Don’t worry,” Reese brushes me off. “Stella was like that before.”
“You named it?”
Her dimples appear, and my chest constricts. She shrugs coyly while pulling on her tiny shorts.
I tear my eyes away and run a hand through my hair while searching the room. It’s the same as it was before I left—myboxes still unopened in the corner—but now there’s an opened suitcase, a mannequin that nightmares are made of, and a shiny ring on top of the dresser that should be on Reese’s left finger.
My fatigue from earlier has long disappeared as Reese and I stare at each other. The warmth from touching her skin has given me energy to toy with her. If anything, maybe she’ll show off those dimples again before escaping to a different room.
