6. Daltyn
DALTYN
“Get out.” She points at the bathroom door.
I chuckle. “Why? You mad I found this?” I hold up her vibrator.
“Would you stop waving that around?” She snatches it from my hand.
Impressive. She has good reflexes.
I’ll remember that.
“No. I want to change.”
“What about your toiletries?”
“Fine. Tampons in that drawer. Shampoo and conditioner in the shower.” She looks in her bag while I do as she instructs.
“Why aren’t you embarrassed about the tampons?” she asks.
I turn to look at her. “I expected the tampons. The vibrator? Not so much.”
She grins. “I’m full of surprises.”
“Yes. You are.” I set the shampoo and conditioner on the shelf inside the shower. “You’re going to need more. You’re almost out. ”
She blinks at me.
“Shampoo. Conditioner. They’re almost empty.”
“I know. I’m just surprised you could tell.”
I shrug. “I use those things, too.”
“Well, yeah. I figured.” She bites her lip.
“And no one’s ever noticed?” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.
I’m not surprised Landon never noticed. But hasn’t she ever dated a decent guy before?
I pull out my phone and make a note. I also add tampons. I’m sure she’ll need more at some point.
Peyton stares at a spot on the floor, lost in thought.
“Peyton?”
She blinks up at me. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” She waves her hand. “Just thinking about some things I might need.”
I don’t believe her for a minute.
I stare at her, not saying anything.
She starts babbling. “You know. More toothpaste. Mouthwash. Body wash.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Now I know something’s wrong.
I move closer. She swallows hard, looking uncomfortable.
I squat down in front of her. “Pey. What’s wrong?”
Her throat works. “Pey. No one’s called me that in a long time.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m just not used to,” she waves her hand around. “This.”
“Someone helping you.” It’s not a question.
“Yes. ”
I reach out slowly, my hand tucking a lock of her silky hair behind her ear. My fingers graze her soft skin, sending a bolt of electricity from my fingers to my shoulder.
My voice is low and raspy. “You’ll get used to it.”
She stares at me, her eyes softening.
The air between us is heavy.
“I should get changed.”
I nod, then stand.
The moment feels ruined. Which is probably for the best.
Peyton is relationship material.
And I’m... not.
“I’ll let you change.” I head to the door, then pause, not looking at her. “Just... be careful with your ankle.”
“I will.” Her voice is soft. Regretful. Like she hates that she spoke, ruining the moment between us.
I exit, shutting the door behind me. But I don’t leave.
Instead, I stare at the closed bathroom door for a solid five seconds. Then ten.
Jesus Christ. My entire body feels tight. Tense. Like every ounce of self-control I possess is hanging by a thread because of her black lace panties and that damn vibrator.
The image of Peyton Sinclair sitting on my guest bed, smiling at me like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Which she probably does.
I drag a hand down my face. “This is a disaster,” I mutter to myself.
I’ve known Peyton for months now. And every moment we’re apart, I try not to think about her. And fail spectacularly.
Somehow, all that we’ve been through hasn’t prepared me for unpacking her panties.... or her vibrator.
My jaw tightens at the memory of holding the small pink thing in my hand while she looked at me with those wide blue eyes, pretending to be innocent.
Bullshit.
Peyton knows exactly how to provoke me.
The problem? I don’t think she realizes how close I already am to snapping.
I exhale hard and head upstairs before I do something profoundly stupid.
Back to my space. My personal solitude.
The loft feels quieter and colder than the rest of the cabin tonight.
I walk straight toward my dresser and yank it open harder than necessary before grabbing the first hoodie I see.
I shut the drawer, then glance down at it. Dark navy fabric. The Avalanche logo across the front. It’s going to be huge on her.
The image of Peyton wearing it slams into me.
Wearing only my hoodie. Bare legs. Messy blonde hair. My hoodie swallowing her whole while she wears those black panties underneath it.
“Fuck.”
I grip the sweatshirt tighter.
This woman is going to kill me.
By the time I head back downstairs, I’ve managed to get myself somewhat under control.
At least until I knock on the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” Her voice is softer now. Warmer.
I stare at the door for a second. Even though I know she can’t see through solid wood, I hold up the hoodie slightly. “You need this.”
There’s a pause. “Come in. I’m decent.”
I open the door... and all coherent thought leaves my brain .
Peyton stands there in navy flannel pajama pants and a fitted tank top, blonde hair falling around her shoulders.
And then she reaches for my hoodie.
The oversized Avalanche sweatshirt practically swallows her whole the second she pulls it over her head.
My hoodie. On her.
Jesus Christ.
Something dark and possessive twists low in my chest.
Mine.
The thought hits so fast and hard, it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
Peyton glances down at herself before looking back up at me. “What?”
I realize too late I’ve been staring. Hard.
“Nothing,” I say roughly.
It’s a lie.
Because now all I can think about is her in my hoodie… and how badly I want to ruin every ounce of composure she has left.
The air crackles between us.
She braces herself against the counter, ass pressed against the edge for balance.
And all I can think about is lifting her onto the counter and?—
The doorbell rings.
I jerk like I’ve been caught committing a crime.
Peyton blinks. Then her lips twitch. “The food’s here.”
Thank God.
Because I’m seconds away from doing something I absolutely shouldn’t do.