Chapter 28
BLAKE
My hands grip the edge of the counter hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Spent most of the night in the workshop, sanding the same piece of wood over and over until my arms ached. Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to stop thinking about what was happening upstairs.
Didn't work.
When I finally crashed, I heard them. Not everything—the walls aren't that thin—but enough. Laine's voice, muffled but unmistakable. The creak of Reid's bed frame.
I'm not mad. That's the fucked up part. I'm not jealous the way I expected to be. The way I used to be.
I'm wound tight.
Every nerve in my body is firing. I've been hard off and on since midnight. Took a cold shower at 04:00. Didn't help. Tried push-ups until my arms gave out. Didn't help either.
Nothing helps.
The soft pad of bare feet on hardwood.
I know it's her before she reaches the doorway. Can feel her presence like a change in air pressure. My grip tightens on the counter.
Don't turn around. Don't look. Get yourself together first.
A small gasp.
I turn around.
Idiot.
She's standing in the kitchen entrance wearing one of Reid's t-shirts, hem hitting mid-thigh. Hair a mess. Lips swollen. There's a mark on her collarbone that wasn't there yesterday—Reid's—and right beside it, mine. Dark and angry against her pale skin.
My whole body goes tight.
Mine. Still there. Still visible. Right next to his. Something about that—the two marks side by side, his and mine on her skin—hits me somewhere below the ribs. Not jealousy. Something hungrier. Something that wants to add more.
She's staring at my chest like she's never seen a shirtless man before. Her eyes track down my stomach, my hips, the waistband of my sweats, and I feel it like a physical touch. Every place her gaze lands, my skin burns.
Say something. Anything. Stop standing here like you forgot how words work.
"Morning."
Real smooth, Moore.
"I—" She blinks. Drags her eyes up to my face. "Hi."
"Sleep well?"
Her cheeks flush pink. "Um. Eventually."
I push off from the counter and take a step toward her. She doesn't back up, but her breath catches. I hear it. File it away.
"Reid treat you right?"
The flush deepens to red. "Blake—"
"Not being weird about it." I let myself smile. It takes more effort than it should because what I actually want to do is cross this kitchen and put my mouth on her throat. "Genuinely asking. He fuck you good?"
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"I... yes?" She sounds bewildered. "You're not... you don't sound upset."
"No?"
"You sound..." She tilts her head, studying me. "Turned on."
"Give the lady a prize."
"But we—I mean, Reid and I—"
"I know what you did." Another step closer. She's within arm's reach now. My fingers itch. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them off her. "Been thinking about it all night."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"Thought it would." I'm close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. Jackrabbit fast. I want to put my mouth right there. Feel it hammering against my lips. "Turns out watching you walk around looking like that is doing something else entirely."
Her eyes widen. She wraps her arms around herself—not defensive. Self-conscious. Like she just realized what she looks like. What she's broadcasting.
Sex. Fucking. Sinking in.
"I don't understand." She shakes her head. "I thought there would be more... jealousy. From both of you. Reid seemed fine last night too, even when we talked about—" She cuts herself off.
"About me?"
"About... all of it."
Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Reid appears behind her, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes still half-closed. He drops a kiss on top of her head without breaking stride.
"'S too early," he mumbles, heading for the coffee maker. "Why are you both awake? Blake's a freak. But you baby? You should be in bed."
"Hungry," Laine says.
She's staring at my chest again. I catch her doing it and she doesn't look away this time. Just lets her eyes trace the lines of my shoulders, my arms, the muscles across my stomach.
Fuck.
The inside of my skin feels too small. Like there's something trying to claw its way out.
"Toast. Eggs," Reid says. Apparently full sentences are hard.
Laine looks between us. "So neither of you are... jealous? At all?"
Reid shrugs, pulling bread from the cabinet. "Weird, right? Thought I'd want to punch something. Instead I just..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Don't."
"Maybe because it's not behind anyone's back," I offer. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "We all know what's happening. No secrets."
"Or maybe we're all just broken in compatible ways." Reid drops bread in the toaster. "Eggs?"
Laine nods, still looking dazed. "Please."
He cracks eggs into a pan. The sizzle fills the kitchen.
I can't stop staring at her. The way the morning light catches in her hair. The marks on her skin—his and mine.
How deep was he—
No. Don't.
I shut that thought down hard. I might be mostly okay with this, but I'm not going to fucking fixate. Not going to ruin it. I drag my eyes to the window. The trees. Anything that isn't her standing barefoot in my kitchen wearing another man's shirt with my bite mark on her neck.
It doesn't work. Nothing works. She's right there. Five feet away and it might as well be five inches for how much space my brain is giving me.
I close the distance between us. Two steps. She tips her head back to look at me.
"Blake?"
I lean in. Breathe her in. Sweat and sex and something floral—her shampoo, maybe. Underneath it all, Reid. His soap. His sheets.
And her. That scent that's just Laine.
I brush my lips against her temple. Her jaw. The corner of her mouth. Each point of contact costs me something. Each one makes it harder to stop.
"You smell like sex," I murmur against her skin.
Her whole face goes scarlet. "I—Blake—"
She's trembling. Not fear—I know what that looks like. This is something else. Overwhelmed. Overloaded.
Too much. You're being too much.
I force myself to step back. Give her space. My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists at my sides.
"Sorry." I run a hand through my hair. "I'm a lot right now. I know."
"It's okay." But she's breathing fast. "Just... give me a second."
Reid's watching us from the stove, spatula in hand, not even pretending to hide his smile.
"You're enjoying this," Laine accuses him.
"Little bit." He flips the eggs. "Blake's been on edge for weeks. Nice to see someone else deal with it for a change."
"Asshole," I mutter. But he's not wrong. I've been ragged. Fraying at the edges since that first date. Fuck. Since before that.
"Love you too." He plates the eggs. "Toast'll be ready in a minute. Everyone sit down and eat breakfast like normal people."
Laine looks at me. I look at her.
Normal. Right.
Nothing about this is normal.
We sit at the round table. Reid's talking about something—a call from yesterday, some guy who got his hand stuck in a blender. I catch maybe every third word.
Laine's across from me. She's got a piece of toast in her hand, nibbling at the corner. Her lips are still swollen. Every time she shifts in her chair, Reid's t-shirt rides up her thigh.
I watch it happen. The fabric sliding up. An inch of bare skin. Then two. I think about putting my hand there. Sliding it higher. Finding out if she's wearing anything underneath.
She's not. I fucking know she's not. I could be in her in a fucking heartbeat.
My fork scrapes against the plate. Too loud.
"Blake?" Reid's looking at me. "You good?"
"Fine."
"You're not eating."
I stab an egg. Shove it in my mouth. Chew. It tastes like nothing.
Laine's watching me now too. Those big eyes seeing right through me. She knows. She has to know. Can probably see exactly what's going on behind my face because I'm not trying to hide a goddamn thing from her.
"So anyway," Reid continues, "the guy's screaming about his smoothie while we're trying to get his fingers free. Tony's dying laughing. Completely unprofessional."
"Mmm," Laine says. She's not really listening either.
I grip my coffee mug. Focus on the heat against my palm. Ground yourself, Moore. You're not an animal.
But fuck, I want to be.
Don't push. Don't rush her. You're in this for the long haul.
I've waited my whole fucking life for this woman.
I can wait longer. I won't be the guy who scares her.
Who takes too much too fast and watches her pull away.
I've already been the guy who hurt her. Already been the guy who made her feel small.
I don't get to be greedy now just because my body thinks it's going to die if I don't touch her.
"Blake, you're staring," Reid says.
"No I'm not."
"You absolutely are." He grins. "It's fine. She's worth staring at."
Laine drops her toast. "Can you two not talk about me like I'm not here?"
"Sorry." I'm not sorry. "You're just..."
"Just what?"
Everything. You're everything. You're the only thing in this room. In this house. On this planet.
"Distracting."
Our eyes lock across the table.
Everything in me screams to move. To grab her. To carry her upstairs and show her exactly what I've been thinking about for months. Since the first time she walked into this kitchen.
I tear my gaze away. Stare at my plate. The eggs are cold. I don't care.
This weekend is going to kill me.
I need to get out of here. Chop down one of the dead trees at the back of the property. Run until my lungs burn and my legs give out. Anything to burn off this energy before I do something stupid.
"Fuck." Reid shoves back from the table suddenly, standing. "I forgot I promised Tony I'd help him move stuff. His wife's been on his ass."
He rinses his plate. Puts it in the dishwasher.
My brain catches up slowly.
Wait. What?
Reid walks over to Laine, crouches next to her chair. Cups her face in his hands and whispers something in her ear. Something I can't hear.
Her eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open.