Page 29 of Kitty Season
“Yes, it helps me spell better. Got a problem with that?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, which is great ‘cause I have no idea what to say. “Where was I up to? Oh, right. Come over to mynew digs, and I promise to make you purr, dot, dot, dot, twice. No sleepovers though. You know the rules. Full stop, and send.”
“Jesus Christ. This is my life now.”
The weight of Troye’s arm burdens my neck and shoulders again. “Our life, Skip. You, me and Quinn. One big happy family. Ready to eat?” With that, he drops me a wink, presses his obscenely large palm into my leg as he rises, and heads to the kitchen, leaving me to sit and once again, contemplate how the fuck I got here.
Troye
This is so much freaking fun I can’t take it,butI also will for as long as I can, because the second Quinn finds out I’m on her dad’s team, my ass is grass.
That’s what you want, dick,I remind myself again. Her father’s thinly-veiled contempt and dislike of me may be put to the side when it comes to hockey, but where his little princess is concerned? Well now, that’s a whole other game.
“Holy Captain Boomerang, Skip. Ever heard of taste buds? There is nothing. Not one snackable thing in this fridge. Lean meats. Vegetables. Pre-cut fruit. And this? Kombucha? What the hell is Kombucha?” I crack open the bottle, take a sip, and almost faint. “Dude, this smells like fucking ass!”
The bottle is snatched out of my hand before I realize Brady is behind me. Big boy can sneak. “It’s fermented black tea and it promotes good gut health.” He then finishes the bottle in one go, that prominent Adam’s apple tormenting me with each gulp. It’s abnormally hot to see him drinking from the same bottle as me and I break into a sweat like I’m sitting directly on the sun’ssurface rather than standing in front of an open refrigerator. His eyes are watering, lips stretching around the glass. Again, scorching hot.
I can’t help but giggle though as he gets to the very last drop and has to fight with all his might not to cringe. When he finally lowers the bottle, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, decorum faltering to allow a squinting wince to sneak by. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he says, a slight shiver rolling through him.
Fuck. I’m staring. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve never seen a man swallow before.”
I burst into laughter, expecting him to maybe do the same, or at least proudly smirk. But Brady just takes me in with a deadly serious expression like he has no clue of what he’s just said.
Like he’s being completely straight.
Unlike me.
I just don’t get him. Dude watches me like a hawk. Sent me a shirtless pic of himself in bed, for fuck’s sake. Who does that unless they’re … wait.
Holy shit.
He was flipping the bird. I thought that was just a foil for the sin shot, but did he not even think about the hot as fuck bod behind it? I’ve looked at that damn photo a hundred times and more often than not, the raised finger is the last thing on my mind. I’m too busy focusing on the part of me that’s raising a tent in my pants. Then there’s the blushing. The dude blushes constantly. “Around Quinn,” I mutter to myself. “Only when he’s around Quinn.” He did glow up around Noah, too, but now that I think about it, Quinn was probably always there with Noah’s girl, Lotte.
And just like that it hits me. All along I thought Brady and I were dancing the same dance. Sure, I’d taken the lead but there was no doubt in my mind that Brady knew the steps.
Was I wrong? Is this … am I waltzing a lame ass delusional solo?
I’m in two minds as he shakes his head and brushes past me, deliberately slamming his shoulder into mine as he goes, the point of contact sparking like two flint rocks.
For me at least. Brady looks pissed, but still cool as a cucumber. “If you’ve finished talking to yourself, I can show you your room.”
Leaving the kitchenette, he wanders through the open-plan lounge containing just one sofa, a coffee table and a small T.V. unit. Three doors lay before him, but he stops at the door on his right, hand tugging on the lever handle as he looks over his shoulder. “This is the bigger of the two and has an en-suite. There’s a shared bathroom too, I only use that.”
“Why wouldn’t you take the bigger room?”
“Body’s too big, shower too small. I either smack my head on the head, or got a crick in my neck from bending. The main bathroom is more my size.”
Great, now I’m picturing rivulets of water beading down naked Brady’s peachy cheeks as they press up against the glass.
That pretty thought fizzles as he pushes then swings the squeaky hinged door open, revealing a well above standard room containing a desk, and two barren bookshelves. Tucked in the far corner beneath a window overlooking the park, sits a double bed that’s empty too, barring a disturbingly stained mattress. Despite that, it’s a nice view. Nice room.
“Cramped or not, I still don’t get why you wouldn’t take this room and just walk to the main bathroom. It’s like, fifty steps? What’s that? Ten in Gigantor?” Brady says nothing, just scowls and nudges me out of the way.
Stepping back into the lounge, he grabs my bag and case. The latter is haphazardly tossed onto the mattress but I grab for hishand, my fingers unable to semi-circle his wrist. Dude’s sneaky and thick.
“Don’t throw that.” I snatch the one thing I truly care about and clutch it to my chest,
“Looks like a bunch of magazines. What’s in there? Your Women’s Weekly’s? Your porn collection?”
