I nod slowly, all too familiar with her obsession with hot men in gray sweatpants. She even follows several social media accounts devoted solely to this topic.
“And he looks damn good in them. Based on a cursory glance, he’s definitely packing underneath them, too. See what saying yes can get you?” I giggle as a knock sounds at my door.
My stomach drops, heat blooming on my cheeks. How thick are the walls? Could Hayden have overheard what we were talking about? God, I hope not.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “There’s someone at my door.”
“Keep me updated.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and scramble off the bed, drawing in a calming breath before opening the door.
Hayden stands there in pajama pants and a t-shirt, looking just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. Which is odd, considering he’s the one who knocked.
Then I realize what I’m wearing. Tiny shorts that barely cover my ass. Thin t-shirt. No bra.
And it’s chilly.
Fantastic.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, aiming for casual, despite the fact that I can feel my nipples straining against my shirt.
He blinks, lifting his gaze to mine. “I just…wanted to thank you. For today.”
“No thanks required. It’s my job.”
He shakes his head. “You did more than I asked. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate with my kids, other than when my mom invites us over. So thanks for that.”
“Of course.”
He lingers for a beat, his eyes dipping to my legs again before slowly traveling back up my body, pausing on my chest. But not on my nipples. Instead, he’s studying my tattoo.
Or, more accurately, the scar my tattoo hides.
I adjust my shirt in the hopes of covering it up. This is one of the reasons I got the tattoo once my doctor said it was safe to do so. I was so tired of people seeing my scar and feeling sorry for me.
Now, most people don’t look past the intricate network of vines and roses snaking over my chest andalong my collarbone, the scar blending seamlessly into the design.
But Hayden isn’t most people. He’s a doctor. And I can’t shake the feeling he can see what I’m hiding.
“If you don’t need anything else, I’m pretty beat. Jemmy tired me out today.” I casually pull at the fabric of my t-shirt to cover up more of the scar. But by doing so, it reveals a sliver of my stomach.
“Right. Of course.” He hesitates, studying me with unnerving intensity. “I just wanted to let you know I appreciate you. Even if I didn’t show it yesterday.”
“We’re all allowed bad days. Good night, Hayden.”
He nods, his gaze briefly lingering on my tattoo once more before meeting my eyes. “Good night, Rowan.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAYDEN
I stareat the ceiling as the sun creeps over the horizon, pale light bleeding through the narrow gap in the curtains.
My restlessness used to be caused by the kids — midnight fevers, bad dreams, Presley climbing into our bed with her stuffed unicorn tucked under her arm.
