Page 41 of One Pucking Life

“She’s good,” she says, barely above a whisper.

I nod, throat tight. “Thanks for getting her back to sleep.”

“That’s my job,” she repeats gently.

“Still,” I say, locking eyes with her. “Thanks.”

She gives me a look I can’t quite read, then turns and heads for the door. I follow her out, and she softly clicks the nursery door closed behind us. We stand there, alone in the hallway.

Her bedroom is just a few feet away.

Mine is in the opposite direction.

We don’t move.

There’s so much I want to say—too much. Most of it is still a jumbled mess in my head. This past month has flipped my world upside down. But Laney has made it feel manageable. Even more than that… she’s made it feel like home.

She’s brought a light into this house I didn’t know I needed. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely and totallywreckedby her.

“Good night, Max,” she says softly.

“Night, Laney.”

She gives me a small, almost shy smile, then slips into her room.

I stand there a second longer, wondering what would’ve happened if I’d reached out. If I’d saidonemore thing. If I’d let the moment stretch just a little longer.

But I didn’t.

I head to bed alone, trying—and failing—not to imagine the feel of her skin beneath my hand. Or how intoxicating her lips would taste pressed against mine.

In bed, I stare at the ceiling, sleep refusing to find me. Images of Laney fill my head—her skin, her smile, the spattering of freckles across her nose. The way her green eyes light up when I walk into a room. That has to mean something. Ihaveto affect her the way she affects me.

She’s good at hiding her emotions, but there’ve been signs. Long pauses. Awkward exchanges. The flush of her cheeks. The flare of her nostrils when I lean in too close. She wants me too… right?

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration simmering. I need to know. Maybe I’m about to screw everything up, but if I stay in this bed for another minute, the pressure inside me is going to explode.

I throw off the blanket and get up. Logic and all the reasons this is a terrible idea vanish. I’m moving on instinct now—pure want, pure need. Nothinghasto happen. I just need to ask the question. I need to know if I’m losing my mind or if she feels it too.

I stop outside her door, chest rising and falling, the last flicker of reason whispering for me to turn around.

Fuck it.

I rap my knuckles softly against the door and wait.

No answer.

I knock again. Still nothing.

But I swear—Iswear—I hear her voice.

Hesitantly, I turn the handle and open the door.

My breath catches.

Delaney lies on the bed, headphones over her ears, eyes squeezed shut. One hand is between her legs, her body squirming beneath her own touch. Her legs are spread wide, utterly exposed, lost in the moment—completely unaware that I’m here.

My whole body ignites. Heat floods me, rooting me in place as I steady myself against the doorframe. I know I should look away. I know I should close the door and walk out. But I can’t move.

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