Page 31 of Double Fault

When her door clicks shut behind her, I look down at my disloyal dick. “Get your shit together.”

Even though I don’t need to shower, I find myself there anyway, jacking off to thoughts I shouldn’t be having about my mouthy nanny.

Sabrina looks nervous. It’s strange to see the usually unflappable woman look suddenly unsure.

Maybe she didn’t think I’d really be up and waiting for her.

“Hey, Sabrina.” Fisher, who’s sitting at the dining table, holds up an orange slice in greeting, clearly having helped himself to room service on my dime.

“Morning,” she chimes in a cheery tone that belies her expression.

She bends down and adjusts the sock on her right foot, then does the same to the left for good measure. When they’re precisely how she wants them, she double-checks her perfectly tied laces.

“You’re stalling.”

She straightens and hisses, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

With a chuckle, Fisher reaches for a bagel. “Oh, you’ll figure out soon enough that he’salwaysserious.”

I narrow my eyes on my supposed best friend. It seems like he might be gunning for a demotion.

“I can run on my own. This isn’t necessary.” She waves her hand at my idiot friend, as if dismissing him. “I can be back in time to take care of Maddie.”

He clucks his tongue and dips a knife into the container of cream cheese. “You wound me, Sunshine.”

Sunshine.

My hackles rise. What the fuck? Why does Fisher have a nickname for Sabrina?

It’s too friendly. Too… cutesy.

When she flashes a smile in his direction, anger ignites in my gut. I bite my tongue so I don’t tell her not to smile at him. If I do, Fisher will give me all kinds of shit.

“Let’s go.” I snap my fingers.

She rolls her eyes. “Are you sure you can keep up, old man?”

Old man?

“I’m only twenty-seven.”

“Really?” She arches both brows. “You act like you’re ninety-seven.”

I turn to Fisher, who’s snickering in amusement. “We’re going. Call if you need me.”

“Have fun, kids.”

Outside, the car I arranged is waiting for us to take us to a nearby park.

“I ran on the streets yesterday and it was fine. We don’t need to do all this,” she argues as I usher her into the back seat.

I slide in beside her and sit back with a groan. “You’re lucky you came back at all.”

She scoffs. “Do you know something about crime here that I don’t? It can’t be worse than in America.”

I turn to her, my bare knee brushing hers, sending tingles coursing through me. “Are you calling me overprotective?”

“You said it, not me.”

---