Page 97 of Property of Bob

I just liked having her there. Especially after what happened in the bedroom.

I picked up my coffee and took a drink.

Ramona had checked me out. There wasn’t any other way to explain what I’d seen on her face when I’d gotten out of bed in nothing but my boxer briefs.

Her eyes had gone down. Then farther down. Then slowly back up. I’d caught her and she’d known I’d caught her.

I looked over and she was eating a piece of toast while listening to something Shay was saying.

My eyes moved over her.

Jeans. T-shirt. Hair pulled back.

Twenty years ago, I’d known Ramona as Clint’s little sister. She’d been around enough that I’d known her, talked to her, given her shit occasionally, but I’d never really looked at her.

Not like this.

I was looking now.

She turned her head and our eyes met.

Ramona’s lips curved slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were looking at me.”

“Yeah.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

I took another drink of coffee.

“Okay,” she laughed softly.

I smiled.

She didn’t look away immediately. Neither did I.

“How’s the throat?” she asked.

“Better.”

“Actually better or Bob better?”

I frowned. “What’s Bob better?”

“You say you’re fine when you’re clearly not, so I’m assuming Bob better means you’re only in a moderate amount of pain but don’t want anyone to know.”

I almost laughed. “Actually better.”

“Good.”

She’d been watching me since yesterday, but she wasn’t treating me like I was helpless. She wasn’t asking every five seconds if I needed something. She wasn’t trying to push my chair around or grab shit for me before I had a chance to do it myself.

She was just paying attention. I could handle that.

Piney walked past and dropped another piece of bacon onto my plate.