Laurel shrugged. “Yeah. Happens sometimes, depending on how bad the migraine is. You don’t need to worry about it.”
I grunted in acknowledgment, but of course I was going to fucking worry about it. Especially when there wasn’t anything I could do for Sutton.
Almost as if Laurel could sense I needed something to distract me, she said, “By the way, I pretended your phone number was mine this morning. So, if you get a text from some guy named Brad, that’s why.”
It took me a minute to catch up to the abrupt change in topic, but once I did, I crossed my arms over my chest, brow furrowed as I studied her. “Why didn’t you just give him yours?”
“Because I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to give him any number at all, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s been bugging me for weeks.”
Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with the men in this world? Were their egos so fragile that they couldn’t just take the L when a woman said no? It reminded me too damn much of the men Sutton had been dealing with. The fact that Laurel was sixteen goddamn years old only pissed me off more.
“What’s his last name? Is it Prescott?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s one of your players.”
Considering there were only two Brads in the high school and the other one had a longtime boyfriend, I was pretty sure he was too. Also made sense, considering his mom was the one who hadn’t picked up on my fuck-off vibes for five years. Brad obviously wasn’t being taught consent at home. Which meant itwas going to be my absolute pleasure to give those little fucks a teaching moment in the locker room.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks, Daddy Grump.” She patted me on the shoulder before heading past me down the hall. “Knew I could count on you.”
Laurel’s default method of communication was sarcasm, but I couldn’t find an ounce of it in her tone. The realization that shemeantwhat she’d said hit me square in the chest. She genuinely trusted me to handle it, without doubt.
I’d spent my whole life being everyone’s problem-solver. The guy they called when shit went sideways. But her confidence that I’d take care of it without question felt different.
Heavier.
Not like a burden, but like an honor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SUTTON
I hadno idea what time it was when Atlas slipped into bed behind me. With the shades drawn, it was as dark as midnight in his bedroom, so it could’ve been 4 p.m. or 4 a.m.
With the gentle way he was trying to get into bed—a difficult feat for a man his size—I figured he was making an effort not to wake me. And as amusing as it was for him to attempt stealth, I decided to put him out of his misery.
I reached back until I brushed his skin and murmured, “What time is it?”
He exhaled what sounded an awful lot like a relieved breath and shifted closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. His bare chest was a welcome warmth against my back, and I snuggled into him. “Late. Are you hungry?”
Even the thought of food turned my stomach, and I let out a soft groan. “Not even a little. Tell me about your day.”
“Not much to tell.”
“No? How about we start with you giving my daughter unfettered access to your credit card?”
“It’s just to get shit for her room since a fuckup on my watch caused half of her things to be ruined.” He pressed his nose tothe back of my neck and inhaled deeply. “I’d give you one, too, if I thought for half a second you’d use it.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest at the realization of just how well this man knew me. Whether I had intended that to happen or not.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “New shit keeps showing up in my bedroom, regardless.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“No? Then we really need to have a talk with your grounds keeper, because I don’t think it’s appropriate that he’s leaving panties on my bed.”
“That was to replace the ones I ripped off you the other night.”
