Page 40 of Worth the Scandal
But if this was just a bit of fun, she wouldn’t be in my bed right now doing nothing more than cuddling. And I wouldn’t still have that stupid shopping list of hers from two years ago. Wouldn’t keep doing that secret little thing for her every year, without her ever knowing either.
I told her I wouldn’t kiss her. I’m keeping my word. Even though every time she turns toward me, and her honey brown eyes linger on my mouth, it nearly kills me.
She helped me take my strapping off last night. Raided my pantry. Mocked my hobbies. Told me about her mum. We had a proper D&M—like, the kind where you actually feel it the next day. And now it is the next day.
She’s still asleep, breathing slow, curled into my side like she belongs there.
And I’m lying here, wide awake, just watching her.
Trying to memorise every detail. Trying not to let my brain skip ahead to everything that could ruin this. Including me. My eyelids are blinking slower, and I might just take advantage of the extra 5 minutes Scarlett is giving us by sleeping in.
I must’ve drifted off, because when I blink awake again, the sunlight’s starting to shift through the blinds and the spot beside me is empty.
I hear movement down the hall.
Bathroom door creaks. Tap runs. Quiet footsteps.
I sit up, slow, and lazy, muscles aching in that good kind of way. No rush. No panic. Just… peace.
Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone brushing their teeth.
Curious, I pad down the hallway and lean against the doorframe.
And there she is. Standing at my sink, wearing the same clothes from last night, her hair a little wild, face flushed, brushing her teeth with my toothbrush like she owns the place. She catches me in the mirror. Freezes for half a second, eyes wide like she’s been caught committing a heinous crime—which to some people using another’s toothbrush would be. I raise a brow, arms crossed.
She slowly takes the brush out of her mouth.
“…There wasn’t another one,” she says, like it’s a reasonable defence.
I shrug. “You’ve had your tongue in my mouth, Scar. I think we’re past the point of dental boundaries.”
Her eyes roll, but she’s smiling now, trying not to show it.
“I was gonna rinse it,” she mumbles, brushing again.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
She spits, rinses, and gives me this look—equal parts sheepish and amused.
Then she glances at her phone, and I watch the shift happen. Her face tightens. Real world creeping back in.
“I should go,” she says quietly, wiping her hands on the towel. I nod. I get it. No drama, no pressure. But part of me wants to ask her to stay. Instead, I follow her to the front door. She hesitates before opening it. Looks at me, like she’s not sure what this is, or if it’s allowed to be anything.
“Text me when you get home,” I say, planting a kiss on the top of her hair, it still smells delicious even after a night in my bed and cuddled up to me her scent of vanilla and musk still clings to her.
She nods, and then she’s gone. Door clicks shut. The house feels way too quiet again without her in it, which is strange because that’s exactly the way I like it here. I wander back to the bathroom, stare down at the toothbrush on the counter, and smirk. Scarlett fucking Walker. Used my toothbrush. Left wearing last night’s clothes. And somehow, I’ve never felt more domestic in my damn life.
Yeah. I am in trouble.
Chapter Sixteen - Scarlett
I’m elbow-deep in a glittery folder marked RIDGEBACKS SEMINAR—and all I can think about is Asher Kingston deep inside me circa 15 hours ago at the sheds and then cuddled up to me afterward all emotional not physical—all whilst Shell twirls around my dad’s office like it’s a catwalk and she’s auditioning for Sports Illustrated: PA Edition.
She’s got her hair in a bun, glasses perched on the end of her nose, and a coffee in one hand that somehow hasn’t spilled despite her fourth spin. She’s dangerously close to tripping over a stack of player files—but I respect the commitment. She’d kill it on dancing with the stars.
“I’m going to need hazard pay if I have to keep working this close to Jace,” she announces dramatically, flopping into the chair beside me. “Did you see him leaving the field yesterday? His sweat was glistening. Glistening, Scarlett.”
I snort. “Pretty sure that was just Dawson’s Ridge humidity, babe.”
