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With another glance at the clock, I nudged Mira’s leg under the water. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow? It’s bedtime for little ducks.”
Despite the new toy, I didn’t have to tell her twice.
With the clock’s hands ticking ominously and me doing my very best to ignore them, I got Mira ready for bed in record time. It was one of those rare nights—no begging for more books, no wrestling match during pajama time.
I kissed the top of her head as she settled into her favorite corner, the beat-up duck snug and secure under her arm.
“G’night,” I whispered. “Feel free to sleep in very late tomorrow.”
She smiled against the duck. Little shit would likely be awake with the sunrise because I’d asked.
With my chest aching and my head racing with possibilities, I knew I couldn’t sit still until she got back home.
Thirty-three minutes.
It took everything in me not to walk around the front of the houses to see if his stupid car was still there. What good would that do me?
None.
Even if he was still there, it meant nothing.
He was probably begging. Who wouldn’t beg if they’d had her and let her go?
Fuck. I’d done nothing but kiss her, and I was ready to tear bare-handed into all my reservations because the thought of not having her was impossible.
Ofcoursehe was begging.
Maybe he was a crier. Or maybe he was emotionally grounded and wanted to talk through every fucking thought he’d had since the moment they broke up.
I bet Carol wouldlovehim.
“Pull yourself together,” I ground out.
The spiral of my thoughts was quick and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing.
Before I could overthink anything else, I hopped into the pool, sinking under the water. Everything was muffled and quiet, a stillness that I needed.
I broke the surface, tipping my head back to stare at the sky.
Thirty-five minutes.
I’d never known time to move this slowly. Not even during a game, with time-outs and bullshit commercial breaks and God knew what else.
Movement from the corner of my eye had my thoughts trailing off.
When the sight of her registered, it was a good thing I wasn’t midsentence, because she completely decimated my ability to speak.
Zoe had her hair pulled up, piled high on her head, a few rogue waves around her face.
She was wearing a Denver sweatshirt.
Onlya Denver sweatshirt. Her legs were completely bare. And her eyes glowed.
“What are you ...?” I swallowed. “Where’d you get that?”
My question came out sounding angry and rough. But we both knew I wasn’t.
She merely smiled.
