Page 59 of Drop the Mitts

She scoffed. "No, not like that. I mean, they have plenty of options. Why would they volunteer to basically be a cabana boy?"

André waited. When she stood there blinking at him, he grinned. "I think every twenty-year-old man has a secret cabana boy fantasy."

"They do not."

"And you're the expert on twenty-year-old men? Considering how gross you think they are?—"

"Okay, just get out so I can pee please."

André moved past her, purposefully brushing her shoulder. She shivered, and he grinned to himself. She wanted him. She was trying so damn hard to convince herself she didn't, and he had yet to break down all the reasons for that, but her hands had been desperate in that locker room.

But what was this for him? Was he only locking in because she wouldn't give him what he wanted?

The bathroom door clicked shut, and André set their tray of empty plates out in the hall. He turned off the overhead light and flicked on the bedside lamp. Grace exited a few moments later.

She walked to her side of the bed and pulled back the sheets, then froze when she slipped in and looked up. "Oh, damn."

"Just noticed that?" André leaned back, watching her in the mirror.

"It's . . . comprehensive."

"Yeah."

Grace wet her lips. "Maybe shut off the light?"

"I sleep with the light on."

Grace looked at him like he was a serial killer.

André laughed. "Kidding." He reached out and flicked it off. They lay there in silence for a moment, the image of her lying beside him, her hair splayed on the pillow, imprinted in his mind’s eye. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anytime soon, and he had to do something with theI-need-my-hands-on-your-bodyenergy, or he was going to burst at the seams.

He shifted on the mattress. “Why did you go to law school?”

She was quiet for a beat, maybe longer. Then, softly, she answered, “I wanted to help people.”

André turned his head toward her voice, trying to piece together her silhouette in the dark. He was tempted to make a joke but refrained. He was sure that was a real answer. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel mocked for it. “Have you always done commercial and property law?”

She moved, her body brushing against the sheets. “No, I started in family.”

“Didn’t like it?”

“Too close to home.”

What did that mean?“Are your parents divorced?” Every short answer felt like a hook snapping into his skin. He wanted more. Needed to know more.

She gave a small laugh. “No, they’re happily married.”

André waited, and when she didn’t say more, he grunted. “You going to make me dig for every detail?”

“I didn’t know you wanted every detail.”

He swallowed hard, his heart swelling until he could barely breathe. Potential smart-ass comments filled his head, but something about lying in the pitch-black made it easier to be brave. “Maybe I do.”

Her breath caught, then she said, “I was adopted. Not the kind of story you make into a Lifetime movie. My parents were amazing. Stable. Kind. But I always wondered what would’ve happened if I hadn’t ended up with them. What if I’d gone intofoster care? What if nobody had wanted me? So I thought I could make a difference there. And maybe I did, a little. But it gutted me. Every day. So I shifted focus.”

André lay still, blinking up at the darkness. She swallowed at the end of her words. Her breathing came quicker.

“That’s why you’re doing this for Jenna and Country.”

---