Page 86 of The Game Plan
It takes me a second to place her—Sienna, Ridge’s new stepsister. Recognition hits like a light bulb turning on. Aunt Bethany married her father last fall, which is part of the reason I needed to go home last winter. I had only met her at the wedding, so it took me a minute to realize who she was.
“I’m good. As long as this one”—she elbows Ridge, and he grunts—“doesn’t burn the garage down.”
My eyebrow quirks. But it’s Ridge who speaks first. “Me?” He points to his chest, cigarette nestled between his two fingers. “You’re the disaster in here.”
Sienna rolls her eyes, and Ridge turns his attention to the camera. “I’ve kicked this woman out of my space twice this week for spilling shit.”
“Well, if you would clean after yourself…”
“It’s my garage,” he shoots back.
“Spilling things wouldn’t be a big deal if you didn’t smoke like a chimney,” she retorts, her voice growing an octave.
Their banter bounces back and forth as if this is a normal day for them. But it’s their crackling energy that has my attention locked in. My cousin tries to ignore it, but I can tell he’s watching her. His subtle glances aren’t sneaky at all.
“You two are cute,” I say, stressing the word “cute.”
Ridge’s face curls in disgust. “We’re not cute,” he retorts. “She’s a menace.”
She smirks. “Says the guy who texts me all day to check on my safety.”
“I’m being polite,” he grumbles around his cigarette, letting out a thick plume of smoke.
I laugh. “Ridge, I would not classify you as polite.”
“Right,” Sienna agrees with me.
He throws a greasy rag at her, and she squeals. “I hate you.”
She catches it and tosses it back, which has the corners of his mouth twitching. “Whatever you say.”
I say nothing as I stare at the two of them. Ridge Holycross might have found his match, and he’s going to get into a heap of trouble. They’re doomed.
“Well,” I say, trying not to show my amusement. “I’ll let you two get back to whatever”—I gesture my hand in a circular motion—“this is.”
“It’s noth—” Ridge starts. His face turns red from being flustered as Sienna chuckles.
“Byeeee!” I sing-song and end the call before he can finish.
The second I set down my phone, my stomach tightens—not super painful, but enough to steal my breath for a second. I press a hand over the top of my bump and try to breathe through it, but a grunt leaves my chest. “Oof, that’s the worst one yet.”
As the tightening subsides, I grab a blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over me before curling up for a little nap.
When I wake again to more tightening in my stomach, the house is dark. The only light spills in from the kitchen, where we keep a small lamp on once the sun goes down. Not that there’s a lot of overhead light in the apartment, but I’m a lamp girl. Big lights are the worst.
Rubbing the tightness away from my belly, I blink against the grogginess. I grunt as I roll on my back, disoriented until a warm touch trails a path across the arch of my foot.
I jolt at the contact, only to spot Grant sitting on the couch near my feet, one hand holding an e-Reader, the other tracing the arch of my foot.
At the contact, I groan with pleasure. “What time is it?”
“After ten,” he says softly. His voice is husky from not speaking.
“How long have you been here?”
“A little while. Didn’t want to wake you while you were actually sleeping.”
Not wanting to break our connection, but no longer able to lie on my back, I adjust the pillows behind my back until I’m in asitting position. Grant places his e-Reader on the cushion and scoots closer to me, taking my foot back in his grasp.
