Ivy was pretty sure it was drool pooling at the corners of her mouth as she stood gaping at Sean, who was wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his hips, his entire ripped body on full display and glistening with water droplets.
Close your mouth, she told herself, channeling her old English nana’s firm disciplinary tone.For God’s sake, Ivy Harrington, close your mouth. Do not let him know how delicious he looks right now. He doesn’t deserve it.
She made the concerted effort to close her mouth in as casual a way as she could muster. Proud of not making a total fool of herself by melting at his feet, she lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. Not lower. Any lower and she’d give in to the need and lick the water droplets off his hardened nipples.
“We need to talk,” she said. She was prepared for him to put up a fight. Maybe make an excuse for why it wasn’t a good time or shrug her off and say there was nothing to talk about. But he surprised her by giving her a single nod, side-stepping to hold the door open, gesturing for her to enter.
Ivy moved into the living room. The apartment was a carbon copy of her own in layout, but near opposite in decor. Where she went for vibrant color and comfort, Sean’s apartment was all sleek, modern, and minimal. No oversized, colorful cushions or cozy throw blanket on his steel-gray L-shaped couch. Only the couch, big and wide, with a massive flat screen situated in front of it. A rack of weights sat in the corner by a heavy bag that hung from the ceiling.
Whenever she was in this apartment, she understood why they did most of their Netflixing at her place. He had the better TV, but she had the atmosphere.
The one ode to color was the purple heart-shaped throw pillow she’d gifted him as a moving in present. It sat on his couch, as it always did, looking lonely and out of place.
She turned and faced him where he still stood in the entryway between the main door and the living room.
“You’re avoiding me. Why?” She cut to the chase. With him, she had to, or she’d get distracted too easily. Briefly, she’d considered asking him to put some clothes on, but quickly decided it would only be a disservice to her if he did.
Sean sighed deeply. “I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry.”
Ivy folded her arms and nodded, saying nothing. She wasn’t one to disagree with the truth, but she did have to admit to herself that his mature response was a lot less satisfying than the fight she’d been jonesing for.
Moving into the living room, he rubbed a hand over his head, as was his habit when he was frustrated, at a loss for words, or otherwise not in an agreeable mood. “It had nothing to do with you. I… That phone call—” He stared at her, dark-brown eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. Then he looked down at himself. “I should put on some clothes.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” she returned, and it tugged a half-smile out of him. Her heart melted a little at the sight.
He was so damn drool worthy when he smiled half naked.
“Give me a minute.” It took less than that before he returned wearing athletic pants and a plain black t-shirt stretched tight over his biceps. “Can I get you a drink? Water, wine, tea?”
This time, Ivy sighed. He was evading. Stalling for a reason she couldn’t determine, making things awkward between them when awkward was the one thing they’d never been.
To diffuse the tension, she walked up to him until she was in that personal space zone where things between them started to hum, and heat, and relax. “The phone call,” she prompted. “It upset you.”
Sean stepped closer to her as well, surprising her by bending low to scoop her up into an embrace, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and breathing deeply. Like inhaling her would give him the courage to tell her what he was clearly gearing himself up to tell her.
“My brother,” he murmured against her neck.
Ivy stroked her hands down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles rippling over her fingertips as she went. She knew he had a brother. There had been brief mentions of him, usually in reference to Sean’s childhood. He didn’t often talk about his family, and she didn’t push, knowing he’d lost both parents prematurely, and both brutally, one in an accident, and the other to a vicious, relentless illness. But when he talked about them, it had always been fondly.
He’d only ever mentioned his brother within the context of a memory, never specifically. Whenever she’d probed for more, he simply said he was still living in Chicago—and left it at that.
He pulled away from her, then led her to the couch, where he sat, pulling her down on his lap, and wrapping his insanely muscular arms around her. Holding on.
“Jordan served time in prison for theft and drug possession.” As he spoke, he looked directly into her eyes, never wavering, and because she realized he was watching her for a reaction, she purposefully didn’t give him one.
She kept her face neutral, giving nothing away, not wanting to influence what he was going to tell her.
“He recently finished parole. He’s officially a free man. He called me because he wants to come here to see me. I haven’t seen him since the day he was arrested.”
When he didn’t offer any more information than that, and the silence had sat for long enough, she asked, “Do you want to see him?” The question sounded simple to her, but she saw pain flicker across his eyes, pinching the edges.
“He’s my older brother. The only blood family I have left. His whole life he’s made a shitload of stupid mistakes. Most of them landed his ass in hot water, but never bad enough to get him locked up. When Mom was really sick and money for treatment was drying up fast, things became—desperate.” Sean’s eyes darkened with more devastation, more regret.
She could almost see the past clouding his gaze, his vision blurring with memories. When his eyes gave way to a distant look, she knew he was somewhere else. Likely the same place he’d gone that day in the ring, when he’d lost control of the fight. She tightened her hold, pressing closer, wanting him to know she was there with him, wherever he was.
“Jordan ran with some bad dudes. Our neighborhood was full of them. Street gangs all over the place. For kids like us, growing up in the bad end of town, surrounded by poverty, stacked on top of one another in low-income apartments—there weren’t many opportunities to dream big, less to find a way out. Most of my friends joined gangs, dealing in low-level misdemeanors that sometimes led to high-level crimes.”
Ivy tried to imagine it. There were plenty of shows, news stories, and documentaries that featured the worst neighborhoods in Chicago. It seemed that life in big cities like that were divided into two halves. Those who have, and those who have not. She knew Sean’s upbringing hadn’t been stellar, but he’d never described it as awful.
