Page 116 of Skate the Line

Thirty-Seven

SUNNY

I’mup to three hundred sheep.

Ellie’s painting on the wall is starting to move, and it’s because every time I toss to my side, I stare at it, just hoping my eyes will droop, and I’ll eventually close them without picturing Rhodes’s deep, near-suffocating hot gaze that is forever stuck in my head.

I fling onto my back.

What a whirlwind of a night.

It started as an innocent birthday celebration and then turned into some therapy-like experiment that ended with my stomach in knots and my head tangled with fantasies that will never be real.

The way Rhodes grabbed me with possession yet still tender and merciful to the panic I was enduring is stuck in my head. It’s playing tricks on my body.

My fingers twitch to move between my legs. I slowly drag my hand over my curves and rest it along the waistband of my sleep shorts.

I can’t.

I can’t touch myself and picture Ellie’s father.

It goes against everything I’ve stood against since leaving Washington.

But Rhodes is different.

It says a lot about him that he isn’t knocking on my door or showing up in my bed in the middle of the night. He didn’t even intervene at the club until he could tell I was in distress.

I wonder how long he watched.

My teeth sink into my lip.

Why does it turn me on even more to think about him watching me?

You’d think I would be turned off by that, considering I’ve been watched in the past. But it’s a totally different situation, and it’sRhodes.I feel safe with him…and maybe I feel something else too.

“Ugh.”I fling the covers off my legs and swing them around until my feet hit the cool floor.

Water. I need a cold glass of water.

Hopefully, it’ll wash away thoughts I’m having about my boss.

If it doesn’t, I’m just going to pour the water on my head and hope for the best.

On quiet feet, I tiptoe down the stairs and make my way to the kitchen. The house is quiet and calm.

And safe.

Ice clinks against my cup. I pour the water over the cubes and take a few sips. Every time Rhodes slips into my thoughts, I gulp another mouthful down.

I sigh.

This isn’t working.

I teeter back and forth on achy legs, refusing to acknowledge where the ache is actually coming from, and grab an ice cube from the glass.

A cool burn bites at my skin as I turn to rest against the counter. I close my eyes and drag the ice cube against my neck.

I exhale shakily. My hair slips behind my shoulders. Concentrating on the cooling sensation from the ice, I shift and move to the other side of my neck until I hear the clearing of a throat.

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