“Yes.”
The way I want to hear her say that while she’s naked and riding?—
Knock. It. Off. Pervert.
I swallow hard, then crutch around the island and get out of her way, partially so she doesn’t see my dick lifting my sleep shorts. “Okay. Then yeah. Coffee. Sounds good. Thanks.”
Caden got me hooked on fresh-ground beans. Ziggypours beans into the grinder and hits the button, and the motor drowns out every other sound while she grabs a bright red tea kettle off the stovetop and fills it with water.
I blink.
I don’t have a teakettle.
Didn’t notice that when I got home.
I should’ve.
Stovetop’s on the island. Middle of the kitchen. Can’t walk in here without seeing it.
But itwasthere.
The grinder halts, and all that’s left is the sound of Waverly Sweet crooning out a love song.
One of thoseI didn’t know it was you until you were goneballads.
Ziggy sets the kettle on the stove and lights the burner beneath it. “How do you—oh my god, are you a Waverly Sweet fan too? You know she lives here part of the year now? Married a local baseball player? That guy on the Fireballs who was really good when the team sucked before they got new owners and turned everything around?My parents met her. They were at this thing where she was, andthey met her, and I basically will never forgive them now for not calling me when it happened. Anyway. How do you like your eggs again? Or did you want something else?”
“I know her husband,” I say.
Ziggy’s eyes go comically round. “Shut up.”
I shrug. “Athletes network. Good dude. Supports the smaller teams around the city.”
He came out to celebrate when we won the championship last year. Commiserated with us when we got knocked out of the playoffs this year.
Ziggy eyes me, and I find myself smiling broadly at the silent question radiating off her body.
I shake my head. “I don’t know him well enough to ask him to come over with his wife.”
“Well, just tell me you’re useless up front next time.”
I like her, I hear Caden say.
She claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“That was fucking hilarious.”
“It was rude,” she insists.
“It was like having my brother back giving me shit. You’re good.”
That gets me a look.
“Not that you look anything like him. Very different. He had curly hair, but he kept it short. Wore fancy clothes too. Worked an office job. Liked wine. Hooked up with random men and regretted it later. Wait. Are you my brother?”
Fuuuuck.
Should not have said that about regretting random hookups.
