The room across the hall, where Dex is staying, I decorated for Dad, the color scheme dark and masculine. Gray flannel on the walls, ebony wood bed, bold photo prints, and pinstriped gray curtains. It’s empty now. Something I’m painfully aware of.

Is Dex avoiding me? Is he angry? Hurt?

I replay the brush of his fingers against my skin when he’d left me. It had felt like a conversation. A promise, maybe.

But what the hell do I know?

Why does it matter so much? And so fast? Just last night I’d told myself he wasn’t my type. Then I had to go and kiss the hell out of him.

Huffing, I kick the covers free, my skin hot and itchy as though I have ants crawling over it.

Maybe I should listen to Gray and nip this thing—whatever the hell it is—in the bud. Dex is out for the night? Good. I’ll avoid him in the morning. And that will be that. We’ll politely go our own ways, and I’ll leave next week.

An hour later I am still wide fucking awake. Damn it.

Dex

One thing about living alone, you don’t have to sneak into your house. Being a guest, however, I try my best to get up the stairs without waking anyone—a certain baby, to be specific.

I’m bone-tired and smell like cigar smoke. Some of the guys insisted on lighting up. Swear to God, those dogs playing poker paintings have a lot to answer for. Because I can see no good reason why filling up a room with vile blue smoke is conducive to winning poker.

I certainly didn’t need any aid to win. Defensive linemen are shit at keeping a neutral face. I could read them like a book and am a few grand richer for it. A smile pulls at my mouth at the memory of Jaden cursing as he lost again and again.

My smile fades. I took sick pleasure in beating his ass. I tell myself it didn’t have anything to do with that little scene I witnessed at the restaurant, that it was all about being a good center and not letting a lineman get one over on me. But I’m only lying to myself.

Suppressing a sigh, I creep into my room. And halt.

The small, bronze bedside lamp is on, casting a soft, warm glow over the room. Not much light, but enough to see perfectly clear.

Curled up under the covers, an e-reader still in hand, is Fi. She’s fast asleep, her golden hair spread out over my pillow.

For a second I look back at the door. Did I go into Fi’s room by accident? No. I’ve seen her room. It’s light and colorful and feminine.

Besides, my boots are in one corner, a pair of my jeans hanging off the back of the leather armchair next to the window.

My gaze wanders back to Fi, who looks tiny in the big bed. And I’m having a Goldilocks moment here, because I definitely feel like the bear who’s found his bed invaded.

Hell.

I tried to avoid thinking of her all night. She kissed Jaden. I don’t know why. It hadn’t looked involved. They’d been laughing, clearly goofing around. Still didn’t stop me from feeling as though a pole had been punched through my chest.

But her big, green eyes had held guilt and regret when she looked at me. So what could I say?

I don’t own Fi. I want her. I fear wanting her. But I don’t have a claim.

A soft snore leaves Fi’s lips, and she snuggles down farther in the bed.

Fi. In my bed.

Maybe I do have a claim.

I unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans off as quietly as possible. I’d wanted to take a shower. Now, I’m not risking leaving, only to find her gone when I return. I keep my shirt and underwear on, not trusting myself to be naked in a bed with Fi.

Turning off the light, I approach the empty side of the bed and slip beneath the covers.

Fi doesn’t wake up, but she turns my way, as if seeking me. Fuck it. I pull her against me, tucking her back to my front. And she settles in with a sleepy sigh. I let myself soak in her warm body, breathe the scent of her skin. She feels so damn good, my heart hurts.

I hold her closer, my arm around her narrow waist, my hand cupping her soft breast. It feels so right, everything in me relaxes. Yeah, I’m now horny, but exhaustion and the relief that Fi sought me out have the greater claim. I fall asleep before I even know it.

Chapter Eight

Fiona

It’s an awkward thing, waking up in a man’s bed when you don’t remember falling asleep, much less sleeping with the man. It’s even more awkward when you wake up alone.

Sunlight streams across my face, and I stretch my arms over my head. There’s a crick in my neck from reading too long in bed. I don’t know what crazy impulse pushed me to sneak into Dex’s room to wait for him. Clearly that didn’t go well.

Glancing at the rumpled spot beside me, I can tell he slept next to me. Damn if I can remember it though. It stings that he isn’t here now.

But that’s probably a good thing. I have morning breath, and my hair feels matted on one side. Skulking back to my room is like the walk of shame without the benefits of having enjoyed the night before. Yay hay.

A hot shower and cup of coffee don’t relieve my pissy mood. The house is utterly silent and empty, which kind of freaks me out. You’d think somebody would leave a note.

I’m back in my room, scrolling through social media on my phone and having visions of being stuck in some bad Twilight Zone episode where I find out every person I know has disappeared from the face of the Earth, when Dex appears at my door.

Just the sight of him has my skin tightening and my heart beating faster. And it doesn’t matter that I’m wearing an old t-shirt and yoga pants, or that I haven’t yet put makeup on. He looks at me, and I feel beautiful.