Page 12 of Drop Three

My weary eyes search for the first sight of human life, finding Bodhi cooking over the stove in nothing but athletic shorts.

Good fucking morning to me. What a sight.

Not that I haven’t ever seen Bodhi shirtless, but this domestic side of him is sexy as hell.

Nope, Navy. We are not going there. He’s so emotionally unavailable, it’s hilarious even to contemplate the idea at this point.

Since he has yet to notice me, I drop my heavy luggage on the tiled flooring and hope it makes him turn around.

It does.

He instantly perks up as I come into view. “Navy, hey. How’d you sleep?” He almost looks shocked to see me, like he forgot I imposed myself on his Friday night plans.

I haven’t moved an inch and am unsure if I will. The distance between us feels safer. “Good, thank you. Thank you for letting me crash here. I’m sorry for showing up so late.”

I’m embarrassed.

Bodhi has enough going on, and the last thing he needs is me throwing my meaningless problems at him. However, there aren’t very many people for me to call. My parents live in the suburbs of Atlanta, and my brother, Callaway, is now married to my best friend, Dakota, but everyone calls her “Kodi.” They offered me a room at their newly renovated house, but I can’t. I love them both more than anything, but I won’t invade their new life together. They deserve to enjoy each other for a while.

He nods. “Anytime. I made eggs and bacon if you’re hungry.”

I take a couple of steps in his direction, and the smell of his cooking overwhelms my senses. It smells delicious.

I’m starving, but I’m also stubborn.

“That’s okay. I should probably go.”

He stares at me like he doesn’t know how to act, which I get, but it throws me off guard. His eyes drift to my suitcases before he shoots his head up in question. “You’re not staying?”

He’s always worried about me. He shouldn’t, though. I can handle myself fine most days.

I shake my head slowly; I don’t want to disappoint him when he’s already helped me so much.

“It’s better if I don’t.” I know it, and he knows it too.

His massive frame slumps in dismay.Interesting.

This gives me a second to take Bodhi in.

Massive is an understatement when it comes to Bodhi’s size.

He’s enormous; linebacker huge.

His thighs are thick and strong. How can leg muscles look so carved and rigid? He feels close to seven feet, towering over everyone he meets. Being a Major League catcher of his caliber calls for epic strength with the amount of squatting and hustling on the ground they do.

His size is an asset to his game.

I can imagine hundreds of other things his size could be an asset for.

But I won’t.

Bodhi’s tan and muscular chest is all I see. So many ripples and valleys complement his broad shoulders—seductively, if I might add.

The span of those sculpted shoulders leads to the face I see in my dreams. I follow the curve of his Adam’s apple to his sharp and defined jawline and cheekbones. His hair is dirty blond—with more blond than brown. The contrast to his bright green eyes is euphoric. I typically stereotype blond men with a lazy surfer vibe.

Bodhi is a heavy contrast to that preconceived judgment.

He reminds me of a Calvin Klein model—except bigger.

---