Page 66 of Timelessly Ours

A flash in the app tells me there’s movement in my bedroom so I assume Rory chose to stay in my room again tonight.

But when the black-and-white video starts, it’s not Rory moving about. It’s Nicole.

My bedroom is dark and it’s hard to see much. The only light comes from the open door to the master bath. But it’s clear as day that Nicole is wrapped in a towel.

That’s when it occurs to me. I never fixed the hot water in her shower.

Her hair is tied up in a clip and I stare at the back of her neck as she unhooks the towel, and lets it drop to the floor.

I swallow hard at the vision of her bare backside.

And when she bends to pick it up, I’m panting. I can’t look away. Her glorious body is silhouetted in the night of my bedroom and I’m all kinds of fucked up.

I drop my phone down at the bar, disgusted at myself.

What are you, fifteen? Get a fucking grip.

When I pick up the phone again to shut off the app, I breathe a sigh of relief when I find her in a bathrobe.

My bathrobe.

She’s naked under my bathrobe.

Forget being Buffalo’s most eligible bachelor—I’m officially the luckiest bastard in town.

My phone rings and I stumble.

Veronica.

Who the hell is—

Ah yea. She’s the reporter I had a date with a few weeks back. Before the season started. A date I planned to cancel until Angel made me go. Insisting I needed to get out more outside of work.

A call and a text?

Red flag.

Not that it matters. Veronica wasn’t getting a callback. I vaguely remember making plans to see each other again but I can’t think about that right now.

Not when thoughts of silhouette-naked nannies are running through my head.

After checking the right camera with my little girl safely tucked in bed with her bunny and blanket, I put my phone away and close my tab at the bar.

18

It’s Monday night and I’m completely restless. I didn’t want to ask either of my friends to stay with me another night since their men return late this evening and I’m sure they want to be home to welcome them back.

I’ve kept busy enough this weekend. The house is spotless. Rory and I finished two five-hundred-piece puzzles. And I’ve performed my facial routine twice today. Any more than that and I’d be at risk of losing healthy skin cells.

On the bright side, my face is positively glowing.

I’m in my shorts and an off-shoulder tunic in the dining area, staring at the glass-enclosed bar wall.

I’m not sure that restocking Coach’s liquor cabinet was the step in the right direction—one that may very well get me fired. But it felt right. He shouldn’t have to sacrifice a nice glass of wine or scotch because he was kind enough to offer a recovering addict a job in his home.

Besides—I’m not planning on drinking any of it—I don’t want to. But just to be safe, I didn’t buy any vodka.

Now that they’re all lined up in front of me, I can’t help but think this is a step in the right direction, and…it just might be the therapy I need.

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