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I don’t know how to deal with that, so I let it go for now. “What am I going to do?” I pull the phone from my back pocket. “Oh, thank God. It’s just my dad.” I open the message with shaking hands.
Dado
Pancake House in fifteen with me and Hollis!
Of course he’s joining us today of all days. “Hollis is coming to the Pancake House,” I tell her. “Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet, and you can grab it for me while I’m there.” Otherwise, things are about to get even more awkward.
CHAPTER 3
HOLLIS
I’m still standing in the hallway, staring at the door Peggy disappeared through. Postie winds himself between my legs. “The diner will be awkward.”
Postie meows and trots over to his dish. He plunks his butt down and taps the bowl with his paw. Malone hustles out of hiding to join his brother. I shake out a few treats for my boys before crossing to my bedroom.
I should have warned Peggy that I was home early. Thank fuck I hadn’t come out bare-assed. She looked shell-shocked enough as it was. She’ll probably be embarrassed about the whole thing. She’ll feel compelled to overcompensate by saying sorry a million times and texting repeatedly to make sure it’s safe to come by. I don’t want her to feel bad when it’s on me to warn her. I know her routine. She stops by to check on the cats first thing in the morning and again when she gets back from class. I grab my phone from my bed, intending to send an apology message.
Malone hops onto the nightstand, and something clatters to the floor. He yowls and bounces like he has springs in his feet, tail poofed out as he races out of the room.
“What’s got you so freaked out?” I frown as I bend to pick up the object. “The hell?”
It takes several seconds for me to process what I’m holding. And when it finally clicks, my brain almost liquifies. I’m holding a superhero vibrator. More specifically, I’m holding Peggy’s superhero vibrator. It can’t belong to anyone else because aside from her dad, she’s the only person with access to my penthouse. And she’s the only woman who’s been here in a long, long time, apart from my younger sister and my niece.
So many questions arise. So fucking many questions.
Like why the hell is her vibrator in my goddamn bedroom? On my nightstand.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at my bed with the two cat-shaped dents near the pillows. Then I glance across the room at one of the two kitty cams I set up but didn’t monitor while I was away. I forgot to even mention they were there.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Did she get herself off in my bed? Why would she get herself off in my bed?
Or did she leave it here on purpose to tempt me? No. She could have anyone. There’s no way Peggy wants anything from me. And she can’t know what has been going on in my head over the past several months.
For the past few years Peggy’s been on the periphery of the hockey world, attending university, living in an off-campus apartment, around on weekends when she comes to visit her dad. I only saw her occasionally. She started watching my cats and kept me company during my injury last season, but even those things fit in very specific boundaries. We became friends. It was all fine.
At least until she took an internship position working under Hemi, the head of team PR in September. And then everything changed, even though I’ve tried not to let it.
I’ll never forget the moment I rounded the corner and spotted her doing a hip shimmy down the hall, fist pumping the air. I hadn’t realized whose curves I was admiring at first. Until she spun around, her wide smile aimed at me. It was such a damning moment. I’d been ogling my best friend’s daughter. Since then, I’ve done my best to compartmentalize that event. To force myself to see her the way I’m supposed to. But now here I am, with a whole new battle to face.
Because this…is exactly what I don’t need.
I try not to let any invasive, inappropriate thoughts root. I really do. But my imagination is a giant asshole. Not for the first time, an image forms of Peggy lying in my bed, lip caught between her teeth. Only this time, she’s holding the superhero vibrator. I shake my head to chase it away.
Do I have footage of this stored on my cloud? My self-loathing is immediate and warranted. I let go of the vibrator like it’s on fire. It drops to my bed and lies there. It looks so damn harmless. It’s anything but. The rechargeable silicone device taunts me, a horrifying beacon of untenable hope.
She wants you. I shove that thought back down. That’s impossible. “She’s Roman’s daughter, you fuckhead,” I chastise.
I rub my bottom lip. I can’t afford to indulge in these kinds of fantasies about her again—the kind where I replace the freaking superhero vibrator with my own goddamn body part. It’s bad enough when it’s outside of my control and happens in my dreams. I clench my fists, forcing those traitorous thoughts aside. I want to be wrong. I want this to be a bad joke. But the sheets have been changed. The dark blue ones were on when I left, and these are a lighter blue. They smell like my detergent.
I head for the laundry room. A basket full of towels and bed sheets sits on the floor in front of the machine. My throat tightens as I pick up the towel on top. It’s damp. Did she shower here? Do not picture her naked in your shower.
Under the towel are my navy sheets. For reasons I don’t understand, I pull them out. Maybe to prove I’m wrong? That this scenario I’ve conjured is all in my head? The top sheet is covered in cat fur. Postie and Malone like to burrow under the comforter and nap there like a couple of weirdos.
But then my fist closes around the damp fitted sheet. I frown at the very inconvenient semi tenting the front of the towel wrapped around my waist. My hand lifts without my permission, and I do something I’ll probably regret for the rest of my life. I sniff the sheet.
And my knees nearly buckle.
