Page 20 of Rookie Season
I stand, glancing back at the door like someone might burst through, then for some reason, I open the cabinet again and remove the perfume. I spray the sweet fragrance once into the air and inhale, closing my eyes and enjoying the scent. It smells even better on Ally, the scent mixing with her skin perfectly.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door and I startle, nearly dropping the glass bottle.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper to myself, shoving the perfume back into place and closing the cabinet door as quietly as possible. I’ve clearly lost my mind.
“Just a second,” I call to whoever knocked.
I turn on the sink like I’ve been washing my hands thiswhole time, then open the door and find a rumpled Ally standing before me, all messy blonde waves and sleepy doe eyes.
She’s really pretty.She’s wearing silky pink pajama shorts that show her long, toned legs…and a matching top that has tiny bows at the shoulders. Harry is sitting by her feet, and the tired expression on her face tells me she didn’t get much sleep, either.
“It’s all yours,” I say as I slip past, careful not to touch her—or look at her legs again.
She gives me a sleepy smile and steps inside. Then she stops, her brow wrinkling. “Were you…using my perfume?”
Harry follows her inside the bathroom, rubbing against her legs like he did mine earlier.
I tut. “No, of course not.”
She smirks and closes the door.
Breathing out a deep breath, I stride to the kitchen in search of breakfast but stop in my tracks when I see Fisher and Penn haphazardly sprawled across the expensive, leather sectional. Red solo cups and paper plates are scattered all over the kitchen counter, the floors, and spilling out of an overflowing trash can.
So much for breakfast.
I clap my hands loudly, earning a groan from Penn. Fisher remains lifeless. “Come on! Up! Let’s clean this place and make some breakfast.”
Penn is shirtless, his shirt strewn over the lamp on the side table next to the sectional.
Fisher is wearing a shirt, but his pants have been discarded onto the floor.For shit’s sake.
I stride over to Fisher and nudge him with the back of my hand, grabbing his jeans and throwing them on top ofhis head with the other. “Get dressed, Archibald. We have a woman living here, remember?”
He whimpers but grabs his jeans and sits up.
Penn looks around, and I snap my fingers. He looks at me, and I point to the lamp. His eyes widen when he spots his shirt and tugs it off the lamp and over his head.
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a herd of elephants,” he mutters, his voice raspy.
Fisher is standing now, and he jumps into his jeans, somehow without ripping them. “You’re Canadian; don’t you mean herd of moose?”
“We see more bears than moose where I’m from, honestly,” Penn says conversationally.
“What, so y’all don’t ride your moose to Tim Horton’s every day?”
“Only on Sundays. Not as many Mounties out that day to ticket us.”
I roll my eyes and rest my hands on my hips. “Would you two puckwads shut up and help me clean this place?”
With groaning and pouting that rivals my nieces being asked to pick up their playroom, the boys finally get to work.
A few minutes into the process, Ally makes an appearance. She grimaces when she sees the disaster. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, and she’s traded her silky pajamas for black leggings and an oversized T-shirt, thank goodness.
Right away, without fuss, she jumps in and helps. She grabs a trash bag from under the sink and starts picking up red cups and random trash. I put away the alcohol that was used for cocktails last night and wipe off the countertops. In under an hour, the loft is spick and span again, mostly thanks to me and Ally.
As if to illustrate what hungover wastes of spaces they’reboth currently being, Penn and Fisher plop down into two of the four barstools pushed up to the large island separating the kitchen from the living room. Penn lays his face on the cool cement countertop with a sigh.
Fisher pats his back. “It’ll be okay, buddy. We just need some food. And a gallon of Gatorade.”
