She doesn’t want to beseen, not really. She wants toprove something.There’s a difference. Subtle. But it’s there. Lucy’s drive… it kicks my inner protector into high gear. I want to provide solutions to her problems.
And that puts me in a tricky position.
Because helping people puts me at risk of being taken advantage of and I’ve already crossed too many lines with her.
But that doesn’t seem like it’ll be changing any time soon.
The next time she's here, I need to redraw my boundaries with her. Maybe even use my crazy work schedule as an excuse to back out. Get my life back together.
I shake off the thought and head upstairs to clean up, goosebumps flaring across my bare chest as the A/C hums steadily. I turn on the shower, then catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror—hair still damp, jaw tight, that expression I get when something’s under my skin.
I huff a laugh.Something.As if I don’t know it’s Lucy who’s under my skin.
Which is ludicrous.
I close my eyes, shake my head, then meet my gaze through the mirror again.
You are not a young man anymore. Now is not the time to start thinking with your dick… or worse, catch feelings. Get a grip, Kincaid.
I don’t do casual and that’s all Lucy could ever be.
I step into the shower, promising to let the water wash away thoughts of the woman who has taken up residence in my head—and failing miserably. I can’t shake the image of her in the water, light filtering across her shoulders, her movements slow but determined. Her muscles long and lean, accentuating the curve of her hips and swell of her breasts.
Back in the den, I pull out an old medical textbook from college and flip through until I find the section on ligament healing protocols. I know the information. But rereading it feels like something I cando. Something concrete.
Halfway through, I pause. Lucy seemed fascinated in understanding the reason behind the exercises. She wanted to know the why behind everything we did, and even when I stumbled into medical jargon, she simply asked for clarification, nodded when she got it, and kept going.
I wonder if she’d be interested in reading through this book herself. It’ll be over her head, but Lucy is one of the most determined individuals I’ve ever met. I have a feeling that she’ll accomplish whatever she puts her mind to.
I think of the way she held herself together on that mat while learning she’d just lost her job, her voice steady despite everything breaking underneath.
She might be one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
I open my laptop, search Sandro René, and click playon the most streamed track. The synth beat makes me want to wad up cotton balls and shove them into my ears.
“Time to build you a playlist that matters,” I mutter to myself.
I can’t fix her ankle overnight. But I can fix her taste in music.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lucy
Stella crosses her arms, watching as I lower myself onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “Okay, what gives. You’ve been quiet and weird since we got home. That Kincaid didn’t cross any lines, did he? Was I wrong? Did he have some sort of creepy ulterior motive after all?”
I shake my head. “Nash was a perfect gentleman.”
As in, he watched the final piece of my life implode and offered the kind of help I need, not useless advice or judgment for judgment’s sake. I still don’t know what to do with that other than be grateful.
Stella pops a hand on her hip. “Well, something happened. I’d like to think after knowing you for most of my life and then six days of sharing this shoebox with you, I’m sufficiently familiar with your moods.” Stellatosses her keys into a bowl near the door. “This one? It’s off.”
“They gave my job to my alternate. I officially will not be touring with Sandro René.”
As Stella’s jaw drops, my phone vibrates. I scan the text and my stomach clenches.
Mom
Hey Lu! Dad and I were thinking maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow before you head home. Holiday’s? You could come by the house if you’d rather, but I figured if we’re out, you have an easy excuse to leave. I know how your dad gets
