Page 42 of Skate the Line

I lean against the wall that separates the living room and entryway. I cross my arms and act nonchalant, though I’m uneasy thinking about her living in a place that doesn’t even have a lock.

I was a horny college kid once.

I had a lot more restraint than most, but it would be too easy for one of them to slip right inside and pursue her.

Apparently, I’m just a horny single dad now.

“I know.” Sunny taps the cheap chair that I easily shoved off to the side when coming inside. “That’s why I had this propped against the door.”

“I knocked,” I add. “But you didn’t answer, so I walked in.”

Her lip disappears into her mouth, and she nibbles on it.

I point to the chair. “That means your little security system doesn’t work.”

A laugh erupts from her. “Obviously.”

I step forward. “Would you like me to fix the lock for you?”

Otherwise, you’re coming with us.

“Oh.” She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m only here for a couple more days.”

I wait for more of an explanation.

She waves her clay-covered hand around. “It’s an Airbnb.”

Wait, what? She doesn’t have a place that’s hers?

“So for the next two days, you’re not going to lock the door?” I stare at her with disappointment.

“I’ll…um…” She glances around. “I’ll use this!” She pats the couch and smiles.

She’s quick on her feet. I’ll give her that.

I can’t help but chuckle as I imagine her small frame pushing at the couch until it reaches the door, then doing it again when she needs to leave the house.

Sunny’s lips twitch, but she does a good job at keeping the bravery going.

I shake my head. “Try again.”

“Excuse me?” Her arms cross, and she pops a hip.

It’s sort of cute when she tries to stand up to me. I think I like it. It’srefreshing.

“I can’t have you living in a place that doesn’t even have a working lock.”

I leave her—and the confusion she’s obviously working through from my suddenly caring heart—and begin to walk around the place. Something is shoved underneath one of the windows. A blanket? I assume it’s to keep the cold out. Or maybe it’s another one of her clever security measures.

Right past the kitchen, where Ellie is surprisingly still concentrating on painting, I move to a door. I slowly push against the wood and peek inside. There’s a mattress on the floor and an open suitcase. There’s another window off to the right with pillows propped up against it, probably to block the wind.

I do one more sweep of the area but backtrack when I see something black on the floor.

Her bra.

A lacy one.

I desperately try to erase the image from my head and end up back near the front door where Sunny is trying to scoot the couch.

---