14. Nik
The water jets over my back and I relish the warmth on my muscles, kneading out the lactic acid built up. Needing to work off some frustration, I hit the gym after Luna and I returned from the pizza shop and pushed too hard.
When Frank called me about the “fire” in my apartment, I sped home. Huge shipments full of products fill the brand-new warehouse. It would cost millions to replace. I even managed to convince myself we were blindsided by an attack. But no. It was Luna, cooking.
The memory of her face when I found her at the sink kept me company during each bench press. Her expression of defeat played over and over in my head. She’d been scrubbing that pan like her life depended on it, all while she was in pain.
She burnt herself.
But instead of worrying about her injury, she had focused on cleaning a pan destined to be put in the trash anyway.
I was shocked she was even cooking. Half of me expected her to have found a way to run off, leaving this life and every bad thing included with it. Her not only still in the apartment but trying to make something in it—my chest expands with a slow inhale.
Here. She’s still here.
I snatch the soap to lather up, and the bar slips out of my hand when more flashes of Luna launch through my memory. After Sadie came over to the table, she’d spent ten minutes in the restroom before I went to find her.
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t real.
But … the way dinner was effortless before that. Sitting next to her felt surprisingly natural, and I wanted to talk to her. Plus, watching her eat a breadstick … hell.
Dragging my hand down my face, I spit out the soapy pine as it contacts my mouth. A low grunt escapes me as I muster up the strength to get out of the shower.
Finally finished, I pull on some fresh workout shorts and brush my teeth, pausing at the pink toothbrush propped in my holder. Putting mine next to it, I stare at them. The two items together, seemingly insignificant, cause an increase in my heart rate and a pang in my chest.
I tear myself away from the bathroom, dousing the remaining lights before pulling back the covers to catch an unobstructed view of Luna. She is facing away from me, head propped on her hands. Her legs are pulled up, body tucked into a small ball that makes her bottom and squeezable hips jut out. The black silk shorts she’s wearing expose the tan curves of her upper thighs.
Sneaking into my own bed is not something I thought I’d be doing at my age, but I gently mold my body in, carefully pulling the covers up and over.
Luna’s bare lower half means I’ve pulled too many covers to my side. I sigh, shuffling them back over her. In her sleep, she reaches down, pulling the sheets to her shoulder, and a soft sigh leaves her lips. I freeze.
Damn it.
Thoughts of her parted mouth flash through my mind and I stomp them down, putting out the fire igniting within me.