“Ooo, the fish? Okay.”
Quinn leans in closer, snuggling against Summer’s chest. The sight makes me feel something I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again. Settled. Like there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than right here. A foreign concept I’ve never felt in my childhood home until now.
The adorable display morphs into pure entertainment the moment Summer begins readingThe Pout-Pout Fish. Inflection dances in her tone and her face twists into expressions I could never attempt. Quinn is kicking her feet and eating it up.
I’ve read this book to her before. I know what’s coming. But nothing prepares me for the repetitive part when Summer pooches out her lips and her voice drowns to a sad, pathetic tone. She pauses and says, “Hey! This book is about your dad!”
Quinn giggles simply because Summer does. And me? I’m crouched on the floor, my face stuffed in the sleeve of my shirt to drown out my cackle. It’s doing a decent job of muffling because neither one of them looks over here.
Somewhere between the last few pages Quinn slumps against Summer’s lap. I watch her transfer Quinn’s head to her pillow and tuck the covers up around her shoulders. She buriesBunny by Quinn’s neck, turns off her lamp, and tiptoes toward me.
I stand as her proximity backs me farther into the hallway. When she sees me, she worries at her bottom lip. “How much of that did you hear?”
I smirk. “Enough to know you think I’m a pout pout fish.”
She snorts. “Well, if the face fits.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m a lot more self-aware than that grumpy aquatic creature.”
“Are you?” she teases, but Summer loses her smile when my gaze lands on her mouth.
“I don’t need anyone to come along and tell me what will make me feel better.”
Tension coils and crackles in a vortex around us. I know I built a wall of mixed signals. I told her our kiss meant nothing. Made her believe all I cared about was her help with Quinn. My penance for that should be keeping my hands to myself. Too bad there’s nothing I want less.
An impulse drives me forward, backing her into the wall. She yelps when her shoulder blades meet the plaster. I smother the sound with my mouth, drawing out the perfect pressure from the push and pull of our lips. Heat trickles in a steady stream down my spine and spreads to every cell in my body. I’m nothing but sensation and want. A need to be as close to her as possible. One hand threads through her hair, the other squeezes her waist. This kiss is everything that I wanted to feel from the first one that was over before it started. The desire to stop hasn’t even crossed my mind when she pulls away.
Right, left, right, left, her eyes flit. The longer she studies me, the more I question what she’s thinking.
“Feel better?” she whispers.
I press my forehead against hers and shake my head.More like utterly destroyed.“Not even close.”
She giggles, then clears her throat. “Well, um… I should… probably…”
When I pull back she’s pointing at the guest bedroom door. It’s only eight o’clock, but with dinner and a game of hide and seek, it didn’t leave much time for anything else. I’m sure she was hoping to unpack her things.
“Yeah,” I finally get out, dragging a hand through my hair.
“See you in the morning?” She offers me a smile while taking backward steps. I nod, then she dips behind the door.
“The morning,” I repeat to the silence. An exhale puffs out my cheeks as I cage both hands behind my neck and tip my head to the ceiling. Since when did kissing a woman have to be followed by a million unknowns? The one I’m stuck on is if she’ll always retreat to her room after Quinn goes to sleep. I hadn’t thought about this part of the evening until now. I’ve been perfectly content to watch TV or mess around on my phone by myself most nights, but my desire to be alone has vanished.
An hour goes by flopped on my mattress, then two. Even after removing my shirt and slipping on sweats, I’m still hot, uncomfortable, and restless. Sleep feels miles away at this point, so I give up, grabbing my glasses off the nightstand. I’m tempted to stop at Summer’s door, but it’s dark when I pass it.
I’ve acclimated to the creaks and groans of this older home, but not the sound of running water in the middle of the night. It has me rushing down the stairs and startling a very awake Summer making coffee in my kitchen.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was up.” She tugs at the hem of her T-shirt that’s three sizes too big.
I smirk at the outline of my face screen-printed on the front.She bought it like that on purpose.
“Nice pajamas.”
Summer crosses her arms, bunching the fabric a good couple inches higher. “My Chris Stapleton one was dirty.”
The chuckle that works its way up my throat sounds husky. “I’m sure.”
My team had to have picked the thinnest possible blend of cotton for that shirt line with the way her panties and lack of bra are showing right through it.
