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“I’m not leaving yet. And literally no one was on the elevator when I came up here.”
“Just grab one, please.”
I scan the room, looking for the kitty cam. I spot it across the room by the TV. I roll my eyes dramatically, but cross to the front hall closet and open the double doors. Hollis has an exceptional collection of shoes and jackets. My knees turn to Jell-O as I inhale the scent of his cologne.
I choose a zip up, pull it from the hanger, and shrug into it. It’s the one he wore the other day when we went to the diner. I turn toward the camera. “Happy now?”
“Immensely.” His voice is guttural.
I grab my phone from the counter before I cross the room and pick up my purse from where I left it outside his bedroom door.
“What are you doing now?”
“What you said I could.” I head down the hall to the spare bedroom. “Sweet dreams, Hollis.” I end the call before he can respond.
CHAPTER 9
HOLLIS
Ihave regrets.
I regret not turning off the fucking kitty cams.
I regret telling Peggy she could use my spare room as her personal pleasure space.
I regret calling her when I caught her in my bed again.
I regret telling her to put on one of my hoodies because her nipples were two beacons I couldn’t stop staring at.
And I regret watching her disappear down the hall to the spare room as she hung up on me.
But most of all, I regret what I did after she hung up.
I vow to stay away from the kitty cams for the rest of our away series.
What I should do is turn them off. But I don’t, and the motion alerts are a special brand of torture. It’s a testament to my personal restraint that I don’t even hover over the kitty-cam folder with my cursor.
My text conversations with Peggy are short and to the point after the most recent incident. Formal almost. Based on the extended evening visits and the pics of the boys on the couch while the game plays on the TV, Peggy spends at least an hour at my place each day.
When I return home, the spare room is spotless. But the sheets have been changed. It’s what I asked of her, so I can’t be upset. But fuck, it makes my head spin and my imagination dive into places it shouldn’t.
She left my fob on the counter with a note that I’m running low on Postie’s favorite treats in her pretty, neat cursive. She also brought up my meals for the week from Rix, so the only times I see her in the week that follows are during the Pancake House traditional meal when we return, and twice when she has dinner with me and Roman. Until my injury last year, I only came along occasionally. Now it’s the only time I see her. When she and I are at the same table, she’s polite and friendly, but she barely makes eye contact. I fucking hate it, even though it’s for the best. Peggy needs to get it out of her head that there’s more between us than friendship. And so do I. Every time we talk lately, I find myself hoping she’ll push my buttons. Which is a fucking problem.
We’re currently seated at Roman’s dining room table in our usual spots, with Roman at the head and Peggy and me across from each other.
“What’s next weekend look like for you? Do you think you’ll have a lot of homework?” Roman asks.
“Just the usual stuff, taking care of Postie and Malone while you guys are away.” Her gaze shifts my way for a second before returning to Roman. “It should be low-key. Why? What’s up? Do you need me for something?”
“We’re playing Vancouver on Saturday, and Tristan mentioned flying Rix out for the game so she can see her best friend, Izzy.” He frowns. “Do I have her name wrong?”
“It’s Essie. Yeah, Rix mentioned that yesterday.” Peggy pokes at a carrot with her fork.
“Maybe you want to come along, too? You’ve been working so hard lately. It might be nice to have a weekend away—unless you already have plans, or a date, or something.” Roman is totally fishing.
“Oh, uh, I don’t have a date or plans.”
“What about that Jameson boy? He’s been messaging you a lot lately. Plus, he’s a normal guy. It could be good for you,” Roman presses.
