I suck my lips into a tight straight line and slowly shake my head.
“He’s an idiot,” he says.
I breathe out a short laugh and exhale before falling back on my palms and kicking my feet back and forth.
“Mostly, yeah. I mean, he has a PhD, but I think he cheated to get it. I mean, once a cheater . . .”
We both laugh quietly at my terrible joke.
“But”—I straighten my neck and widen my eyes on his—“My dream did get better.”
“How so?” he asks while slowly working his way across my room toward me. I scoot to my right, making room for him to sit next to me, and the way my body hums with nervous energy should be a warning sign. If it is, I choose to ignore it.
“You showed up, for starters,” I say, biting the tip of my tongue as it peeks out of my nervous smile. I fight my urge to glance to my left, but I can feel Brooks’s eyes on me.
“Did I kick your ex’s ass?”
I shake my head, my smile itching to grow. I give in to a sideways glance instead.
“You gave me a job, moved me into my dream house, then put me to sleep while I wallowed in self-pity.” I pull my knees up and hug them as he holds my stare, letting his head fall to the same side so we match.
Neither of us blinks for several seconds, until the itch to laugh is too great and we both give in. I lean into his side, and he pushes his weight back into me. I could stay like this—bare arm against arm—until it leads to something more, but this is enough, and I’m not drunk, so I know better.
“You do know that’s what really happened, right? I mean, except for the wallowing in self-pity part.”
I roll my eyes and utter, “I know. There was a little wallowing, though.”
He shakes his head.
“Being human is not wallowing. And wanting your kids to feel your love is far from self-pity. I know your feelings are about more than resorts versus Legos.”
The gentle nudge of his elbow at my side is followed by another, and his second poke finds my ticklish spot.
“She likes to be wooed,andshe’s ticklish,” he says, wiggling his fingers between us as if he’s about to pin me with tickles. More temptation.Sigh.
I narrow my gaze on him.
“Are you scouting me like one of your opponents?”
He rocks back with a short laugh then gets to his feet, shaking his head as he pushes his palms into his pockets.
“We’re on the same team. So no, Lindsey. I’m merely taking notes on what you like.”
His upper lip twitches, the movement so small that I wouldn’t notice if I wasn’t staring at his face. It makes his right eye flinch just a hair. And the quiet second or two that follows feels like a slip in time, lasting for minutes rather than the tiny breath it does.
“You know, if . . .” He stops himself, biting the inside of his cheek.
My lips buzz, and I have to suck the top one in to scratch the itch. It keeps me from asking—if what?
If I didn’t work for him. If he wasn’t mere weeks into learning he was a father. If this house wasn’t full of kids, and I wasn’t looking at what I fear is about to become a messy divorce.
Another time. Different versions of us.
“Nevermind,” he mumbles.
He walks to the corner of my room and pulls out the comforter, folded along with a few towels, from my laundry basket. He turns to me and nods his head for me to scoot back in my bed. I do, hugging one pillow to my chest while resting myhead on the other before he fluffs out the floral bedspread that I stole from my parents’ house. The blanket’s weight is soothing, and I pull in the edges so I’m cocooned.
“Get some sleep. I have to be up in a few hours, so I’ll try to be quiet when I leave for workouts. Maybe Holly will sleep in.”
