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Hey do you need anything? I’m on my way home.
Kitten
. . .. . .. . .
Her dots start and stop a few times before the message finally appears.
Kitten
No. Just drive carefully, please. The roads are a mess.
Callen
Be home soon.
I think that was the nicest thing she’s said to me in a while, and hey, I’ll take it.
Beggars can’t be choosers and all that shit.
It takes longer to get home than usual because she’s right, the roads are a shit show, and traffic getting out of the stadium is at a standstill. By the time I walk through the door, my muscles ache, the ankle I rolled during the first quarter is sore as shit, and my fingers are still tingling from playing four quarters of football in a snowstorm.
I’m ready for a few days off before the shit show of Super Bowl prep and pregame media ensues.
The lights are off, and the house is quiet when I get home. At least, until Cupcake meets me in my bedroom. She whines as I change into my sweats and refuses to stop until I grab a treat for her from the extra stash I keep in here.
She’s trained me well.
“Hey, girl. You want a treat?” I make her sit before she can have it.
“You’re mean...” Cait whispers from the other side of the door, and I watch as she squats down, and Cupcake shakes her fat little ass as she trots over to her, forgetting who just gave her a cookie.
Cait squishes Cupcake’s face and kisses her nose, and it’s official—I’m jealous of a dog.
When she stands up, I get my first good look at her and swallow my damn tongue.
“Is that my shirt, kitten?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
That’s the shirt I made her sleep in on her birthday. The one I dressed her in after she drunkenly stripped. And just like that night, she’s beautiful and looks completely naked under it.
A beautiful flush washes over her gorgeous face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sinclair.”
“Did you give my dad a copy of the sonogram?” I ask, wanting her so damn bad, my hands are practically shaking with my need to touch her skin. To taste her. To fucking claim her. To make her mine. Permanently.
A nervous smile, one I don’t see often on this woman, tugs at her lips. “Yeah. He was really sweet about it. You should consider taking advice from him on how to treat women.” Her lips tip up as excitement sparks in her eyes. “Give me your hand.”
“What?” I ask like an asshole before thinking better of it and giving her my hand.
We’ve barely touched since that night last month.
We’ve talked a bit more. But not much. Barely more thanHey, can you get me a strawberry shake from The Busy Bee?Maybe more if it’s about the baby, but that’s about it.
As far as Caitlin was concerned, we went back to our new norm.
Her hating me. And me trying to earn back her trust.
But I’d be fucking lying if I denied how much I want her.
In my life. In my bed.
