Page 31 of Sidelined By Love

And it happens to be mine.

I scrub a hand down my face and then over my hair, clapping my palm to the back of my neck. Man, I do not need that idea in my head.

For someone who’s sworn off relationships, I sure do spend a lot of time thinking about what my life would look like with Zoe Peebles.

“Grant?” Her voice is thick with sleep, and her tongue sounds heavy.

I meet her hazel gaze and offer a half smile.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

Her eyes dart to the far end of the empty couch. “Kenna?”

“I just carried her to bed.”

Something flashes in her eyes, warm and sweet. Maybe it’s a reflection from the screen behind me. But maybe it’s something I said.

A tug in my gut hopes it’s the latter.

“I should go.” Pushing herself up on her arm, her elbow slides, and she crashes back to the couch.

I lay a hand on her shoulder, just enough pressure to keep her from trying and failing again. “You can stay.”

She looks toward the front door. “No, I shouldn’t. My car is—” She doesn’t try to hide the flash of fear that crosses her face, and in an instant, I know that she’s worried about paparazzi.

“You’re the only person Chester has ever let into this neighborhood without permission.”

“I think he likes me,” she says with a lazy smile, her eyes drooping closed. Then her face pinches. “Are you sure?”

“They won’t find you here.”

And if they did, I would break every single one of their cameras and proudly send the footage of the rampage to SportsCenter. Just let them try.

She begins to nod, snuggling deeper into the cushions. But suddenly her eyes fly open. “Nan will worry about me. And Bronco needs to be let out.”

Ah, the dog who must not be named.

Who I probably owe a biscuit treat. Not that I’d admit it. But he is the reason that I connected with Zoe in the first place. That Kenna is beginning to open up to me.

“I’ll text your grandma.”

“And tell her I’m spending the night with you? Ha.” Her laugh is completely dry. “That’ll go over well.”

I smirk as I push off my knees and pull a blanket out of the basket on the floor. Shaking it wide, I spread it over her curled-up body. “I don’t know about you, but Mrs. Peebles likes me.”

Eleven

Grant

Istill smell like Klaus, the drooling German shepherd I took on my run this morning, when I stroll into the kitchen. But it’s not the dog’s stench on my shirt that makes me stop in my tracks. It’s the view at my kitchen island.

Zoe and Kenna are sitting on stools facing each other, contorting their faces into the wildest versions of themselves, while Denise pretends not to watch from in front of the sink.

“Happy,” Zoe suddenly calls, and they both shift into the biggest, beaming smiles that fill every corner of their faces.

“Sleepy!” They both show off big yawns.

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