I’m just glad we survived to get another try at this life. Free.
“You know what? Tea sounds perfect. Tell me about your grandma, maybe she’ll adopt me?”
Davey stands and extends a hand. “There is a distinct possibility she would.”
I clap mine into his, and he pulls me from the bed. We pad out into the hallway. It’s brighter than my quarters, and I squint. Davey ducks into his space and comes back out with the standard navy shirt as he pulls it over his head.
Owens is on the sofa, snoring.
I tamp back a chuckle.
Someone is working out in the gym room downstairs. I push the button on the kettle and Davey pulls out two mugs as quiet as he can. I rummage through the cupboard until I find the tea and drop two bags in my cup, one in Davey’s.
“Cheapskate,” he says bumping my shoulder with his.
“Like it strong, hey?”
“Hundred percent.”
I chuckle, dropping another into his mug.
The water boils. I pour it, and we let the tea steep for a few minutes.
Davey hands me my mug when the bags are out. “Tea for your thoughts?”
“You sure you want to hear it? It’s kind of heavy.”
“Walk and talk, probie.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He grins, walking for the stairs. We take them slowly, as I give him the rundown on why I’m here and not in my hometown. When we pass the gym room, the clink of weights echoes through the hallway.
The long window exposing the room shows a shirtless Hammond on the shoulder press.
Davey stops at the window. “Now,heis who I want to be one day.”
I scoff. “You’ve barely spent a day with the guy. Bit of a stretch, mate.”
Davey’s blue eyes tighten as he smiles, but it’s tentative. Like there’s a story of his own behind the sunshine facade of his.
“You will be,” I breathe.
We both turn back to watch Hammond raise the machine, his jaw set, his body so tense he looks set to explode.
My mouth gapes as the pile of weights lift from the stack and the man’s body glistens with sweat. His hard stomach flexes. The corded arms pushing the machine above his bulging shoulders has my pulse thrumming through my head.
Lowering the weight, his gaze finds mine.
Oh shit.
“Look at his concentration,” Davey utters. “The man is a machine.”
I can’t look away.
Not even when his hands slip from the handles, his wrists hanging over them as he hauls in breath after breath.
Fuck.
