Page 59 of Three Pucking Words
“It’s soup,” I offer lamely, lifting it higher for him to see the contents through the clear sides. “I figured chicken noodlewould be the safest bet because I don’t know if Gemma is allergic to anything.”
His eyes have that fresh just-woke-up glaze that makes him look boyish somehow. I’ve seen Bodhi in full uniform, jeans and a T-shirt, and in suits, but nothing compares to him in a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants.Graysweatpants. Suddenly, I get why people say they’re men’s version of lingerie.
Annnd now I’m staring. And possibly drooling. Cool.
Bodhi either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when his eyes meet mine in disbelief and something else. “You brought her soup?”
I bite into my inner cheek, nodding. “Is that weird? There’s enough for both of you. Or enough for her to have multiple meals if she’s not eating a lot. It’s hard to make a small batch. That requires re-measuring all the ingredients, and I don’t have the math skills for that. Numbers aren’t really my thing.”
One of his eyebrows pops up as he studies me. “What is your thing?”
You, is the first thing that comes to mind. But I’ll be damned if I let that truth slip out no matter how true it is.
“Art,” I say instead. “I use more of the right side of my brain versus the left. Have you heard of that before? One side is more analytical, and the other is more creative. So…” I’m rambling, which makes me wince outwardly.
His chuckle is quiet. “I have heard of that,” he replies easily, accepting the soup that I all but shove into his hands like it’s a hot potato. “Gemma is sleeping upstairs. It’s the first time she’s slept in her own bed without me in a few days. And, let me tell you, cramming my body onto her tiny ass mattress isn’t fun. Especially with the mountain of stuffed animals she always keeps on it.”
The image of him sleeping next to a stuffed unicorn or a zoo full of hot pink fuzzy creatures makes me giggle. “How’s your back?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” he confirms, but there’s still a smile on his face. “Do you want to come in? I’ve scrubbed every surface with a disinfectant at least three times a day, so you should be safe. Just finished doing it again after sneaking out of her room and taking a quick nap.”
It’s in the back of my mind to tell him no, to make up some lame excuse about how I need to go back to work. But I don’t. I finished my work for the day, and even some of tomorrow’s duties. I answered DMs, replied to comments, and sent out image portfolios to agents who requested the candid shots I took at the last two games.
Karina told me to take it easy today and seemed particularly smug when I told her I was going home to make soup. Not that I told her who it was for, and not that she needed to ask.
Whatever.
I step inside and let Bodhi close the door behind me and Puck, suddenly wishing I had a good excuse to leave. A family emergency wouldn’t work because my father could debunk it in a nanosecond if Bodhi asked him, and Bodhi would see right through it anyway.
The truth is, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Just like I wouldn’t have gone to the store for ingredients or spent the last two and a half hours in the kitchen putting them together or spending an obscene amount of money on an Uber to get here because I didn’t want something happening to the food on the train.
I did it because…
Why did I do it?Because Bodhi and I are friends? Because we’re…something else? I suddenly wish we had a label; something discernible that I could pick apart.
Bodhi steps beside me, nudging me with his elbow playfully. “You don’t have to stand there. Make yourself at home.”
It doesn’t cause my feet to move in any direction. They’re frozen where I stand, making his cheek twitch with a ghost of a smile.
He looks down at the container again, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
Does hethink it’s strange that I came all this way to give him soup? I barely know Gemma. It isn’t like she’s a pivotal part of my life or anything. But she is an important part ofhis. And this is where a label would be really, really nice.
“I’m sorry if you think me showing up is—” I gasp when he backs me into a wall and threads his fingers through my hair. The remainder of the words get stuck in my throat as he stares down at me with so much intensity it’s a wonder I don’t combust.
His chest presses against mine, and there’s very little space between us. I swear I can feel his heartbeat, which races as quickly as mine. “You brought my daughter soup,” he says, his breath grazing my nose and ghosting over my lips.
I swallow, nodding only a little because that’s as much of an answer as I’m capable of.
“There is so much…” His voice seems strained as his words fade, and he closes his eyes for a moment.
I want to ask what he’s thinking, but I’m not sure I can when his body is this close.
Eventually, the tip of his nose grazes my forehead before his lips press against my temple. The kiss is soft, brief, and makes me suck in a silent breath that I shutter out.
He keeps his mouth there for what feels like forever before pulling away. “I’m going to put this in the kitchen for when Gem wakes up from her nap,” he tells me with a gravelly tone.
He disappears down the hall with the container white-knuckled in his palm, leaving me standing in the foyer.
