Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HAZEL
A few minutes later, I tiptoed out of Tucker’s bathroom in full stealth mode, but Her Fluffiness had other plans. The cat let out a dramatic yowl loud enough to wake the dead.
The hallway light clicked on. Tucker stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Calm. Cool. Completely unreadable.
Also still shirtless, because of course he was.
“Let me guess,” I said, heart thudding. “You want to talk about my life choices. And probably also my failed B and E at my dad’s house.”
“It’s your house too. And I’m guessing you’ve got a very good reason for not wanting to sleep there. Like…your mom.”
A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. “Everything in that house is a reminder of her. And it hurts.” I paused. “I know you understand that.”
He gave a single nod. “I do. I gutted this place down to the studs because of memories. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Something quivered inside me, and I began to move. “If there aren’t any cookies, I’m pretty tired, so…” I slipped past him, but he gently caught my ponytail, keeping me in place.
“Hold up,” he murmured, his lips ghosting my ear.
My knees promptly forgot how to function. “Very manly,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Alpha vibes are out of fashion, by the way.”
“You’re not going to sleep in your van. It’s not safe.”
“I’ve got defense moves. If you’re okay with never having kids, I’ll show them to you.”
“Hazel.” His voice dropped an octave and rumbled from his chest into mine, scattering my thoughts like confetti. His hands slid down my arms, turning me to face him. His eyes held mine with calm certainty, and just like that, my resolve started to erode.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“It’s late.”
He rubbed his jaw, the sound of stubble against his fingers a low rasp that made my skin tighten, doing something to my insides that I refused to acknowledge. And the fact he wore nothing but those sleep pants, slung so low on his hips they defied decency, didn’t help.
I wasn’t stuck now, and my eyes were having technical difficulty staying on his and not on those abs and that glorious V of muscles that doubled as an arrow to the motherland. It was impossible to keep my gaze where it belonged.
I exhaled shakily and rubbed my chest without thinking.
Clocking the gesture, he gently reeled me in, his hand sliding to cradle the back of my neck. “You still get nightmares?”
After losing my mom, I’d had them constantly. Sharp, brutal, unforgiving things. They’d faded away over time, but Star Falls had brought them back like a freight train. “I can still see her,” I whispered. “On the floor, and…” My voice cracked. “We’d just had a big fight. I’d told her I hated her.”
“Hazel.” Voice low, pained. “She knew you didn’t mean it.”
Did she? I’d never know. “I need to go to bed.”
I made it to the front door, but he beat me to it.
“You’re not sleeping in your van tonight.”
“Actually,” I said, “since I’d rather walk through a minefield in clown shoes than sleep at my dad’s, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Or maybe I’ll sleep in the tree house.”
“Not funny.” His stupidly perfectly square jaw tightened. So did his eyes. He was displeased.
He could join my club.
“Sleep here,” he said in a firm voice that probably worked for him with most people.
But not me. “Did hell freeze over?” I asked sweetly.
He didn’t budge. He wasn’t playing. “I’ve got four bedrooms. I’m in the primary; my dad’s in the one off the living room. You can have your choice of the other two.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
He sighed like I was exhausting.
Fair.
“It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same house before,” he said.
Oof. That landed like a sucker punch wrapped in nostalgia. Back in high school, every time Kiera stayed over at a friend’s—which was often, because teenage girls love sleepovers and Tucker had hated his house—he’d crawl through my bedroom window like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I kept a sleeping bag on my floor for him. He never tried to sleep in the bed with me. And I’d never invited him.
Until I did.
One night. One reckless, couldn’t-take-it-back night, when the rules changed and we let the truth slip between the sheets and gave in to everything we’d been holding back.
And then that one night turned into another. And another. Each better than the last. And, God, the things I’d felt for him, things I’d never felt again or since.
I’d known things would never be the same. They would be better. Us against the world.
I’d never been more wrong.
The next day, I was stupid enough to tag the side of the courthouse building on a dare and got caught.
My dad’s and my fighting kicked up a notch over the next few weeks until one night when he said I should get out.
He’d said it before, an empty threat, really, because we always managed to get over it, at least enough to cohabitate.
I don’t know what it’d been about, that last fight, that last my rules or the highway that had me wanting to run. For real.
It was in my blood not to stick. When my mom had died, I’d retreated from everything. Sports. Friends. School. Boys…
The only thing, the one person I’d never walked away from had been Tucker. And technically, I still hadn’t. Nope, he’d been the one to walk away from me.
And so I did my thing. I ran. Leaving Star Falls in my rearview.
Tucker included.
So much time had gone by, but here we were, back in that space—one of us offering the other safety, both pretending we didn’t unravel each other by just breathing.
“I can’t sleep here,” I whispered. Translation: I couldn’t be this close to him and not fall again.
Because staying meant wanting, and wanting meant risk. It meant remembering what it felt like to be wanted in return. And I wasn’t sure I could survive losing that again.
He stared into my eyes, his own hooded. Then pulled something from the front pocket of his sleep pants.
My van keys.
“I got them when you were in the bathroom,” he said.
“You mean you stole them so I wouldn’t vanish.”
“Toe-may-toh, tah-mah-to.”
I reached for them, but he held his arm up over me.
“You want these?”
“You know I do.”
“Then take them.”
I considered climbing him like a jungle gym, but if I did, I’d probably forget about the keys entirely. “Give them back.”
With a daring smirk, he slid them into his front pocket. “Come and get ’em.”
I hesitated, but probably not for the reason he thought. I wanted those keys. I also wanted to cop a feel—and more. But that would be bad, stupid, and bad. “You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.” He led me down the hall. “Pick a room,” he repeated. “One has bunk beds. The other, Kiera uses sometimes and would be more comfortable for you.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t respond, just led me down the hall, pointing to the first door. “Hank’s.” He then opened another door.
The room was big, with dark masculine wood furniture, everything clean and neat, including the massive bed with navy bedding that was scented like him and made me want to plop onto the mattress and just breathe it in. Clearly Tucker’s. “Do you always make your bed with perfect corners like that?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t if you were in it.”
The rich laugh? It was a touch. A kiss. It reached places I hadn’t even realized were still tender.
When he read the emotions rolling across my face, his grin vanished, and I locked my traitorously wobbly knees and reminded myself to ignore his sexy, easy charisma. It was a trap, one I would not get caught in.
The next room had soft-green walls, a faded quilt, and a sunbaked oak scent that made my chest ache.
“Sheets are fresh,” he said.
“It’s lovely.”
He shrugged. “That’s all Kiera. Sometimes she joins me and the twins when we’re having a sleepover.” He caught my hand as I started to move inside.
“We good?” he asked.
I nodded.
“And you.” He peered down into my face. “You good?”
I let out a rough laugh. “That’s a bigger ask.”
He nodded like he understood. “You’re breathing. You’re here. You’re safe. If you’re good, in the morning I’ll make you pancakes that will change your life.”
I snorted. “For a second, I thought you were going to offer something else.”
His eyes darkened, his voice low. “Didn’t think that was on the table.”
My heart thudded at the urge to run like someone had just yelled feelings in a crowded room. “Me neither.”
He took another of those deep breaths and stepped back. “This isn’t me making a move on you. It’s me trying to keep you safe and comfortable. Your job is labor-intensive, and you need sleep so you’re sharp. That’s all.”
I gestured to his outfit. Or lack thereof. “You sure about that?”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “Why? See something you like?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
He stared at me. “Right back at ya.”
My entire body buzzed with awareness, hopeful and trembling. He didn’t miss that either, raking his gaze over me slowly, appreciatively.
“Deal on the pancakes,” I managed. “But fair warning—I’m using your shower, plus your sexy-smelling soap and shampoo, and I’ll probably steal some clothes.”
“I’d expect no less. Water pressure’s shit,” he warned. “I shower Hank at night, but I use it at five thirty a.m.” His eyes flashed. “Go before, after, or better yet, join me. Just don’t use the water while I’m in there, or you’ll freeze me out.”
Then he was gone.
And even though he wasn’t in the room, I didn’t feel alone anymore.
I woke at 5:30, stunned I’d slept through the night but also mildly offended to be up so early. As I padded into the kitchen—followed by Her Fluffiness, who undoubtedly expected to be fed—I heard the pipes rattle.
Tucker was in the shower.
I filled the coffeepot with hot water and smirked when a very loud, very manly squeal echoed from down the hall. Look at that: Mornings could be fun.
I was still grinning when I turned to the coffee maker, which, frankly, looked like something NASA might pilot to Mars. So many buttons. So few brain cells this early. I could no more figure out this machine than fly to the moon.
And then he appeared.
Barefoot. Wet. Rumpled. Not shaved. Wearing nothing but black knit boxers that revealed miles of mouthwateringly lean muscles on the kind of body that should come with a warning label.
He was all sleepy heat, quiet danger, those hazel eyes promising me retribution—which, for reasons I refused to analyze before caffeine, made my nipples stand at attention.
He could seduce me by breathing.
Meanwhile, I probably looked like a cross between a sleep-deprived raccoon and a confused sloth. I’d piled sweats on top of my pj’s, no doubt giving off an impression of stylish depression. My hair had most certainly rioted, and I was 90 percent sure I was drooling.
Sexy, I was not.
And yet, despite it being way too early for sexual tension, here we were, the air crackling around us like it had a vendetta.
“Feeling playful today, are we, Tough Girl?” he asked in a voice that changed my body chemistry.
I lifted my chin. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His smile was pure trouble, his eyes calculating, as if he were cycling through a few scenarios: Seduce me, kill me, toss me out, or—my personal favorite—bend me over the kitchen table and make me forget my name.
Without a word, he nudged me aside and took charge, working the overly complicated rocket ship with ease, getting coffee going in seconds like it was his love language, all while looking like sin on a mission.
Then he fed Her Fluffiness, who thanked him by rubbing up against his legs while aggressively purring.
The hussy.
We didn’t speak. We just stood there, leaning back against opposite counters, empty mugs in hand.
Staring. Watching. Simmering.
I knew Tucker wasn’t a morning person, and yet he somehow made silence seem sexy. Same with the stubble, the hair, the hooded eyes. I was one prolonged look away from spontaneously combusting, when my stomach betrayed me and let out a dramatic growl that echoed off the walls like an air horn.
Her Fluffiness glared at me, then turned and walked out of the room.
In horror, I slapped my hand to my belly.
Tucker just snorted and opened the fridge. And then proceeded to make pancakes and hand delivered a loaded plate.
“Are they any good?”
He smiled, took the fork from me, cut himself a bite, and brought it to his mouth.
With eye contact.
His lips closed around the fork. His tongue flicked to catch a stray smear of syrup like it was a live demonstration of foreplay, and I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who’d brought hot water to a firefight.
Then he licked the fork.
Slowly.
My brain crashed like a Windows 95 desktop, and my soul left my body. I stuffed a bite into my mouth and moaned sinfully.
His eyes darkened as he turned away to fill our mugs with coffee. His back flexed in all the right places.
And I forgot how to use words.
With a knowing look, he added cream and sugar to my mug and handed it to me. Nudging it to my mouth.
I rolled my eyes but complied like a woman with no self-preservation instinct. Sipped. And then blinked in surprise.
The coffee was heaven.
Damn it.
I took another long gulp of caffeine, then dug into the pancakes like they owed me money.
Tucker stayed quiet, leaning against the counter, watching me eat. By the time he finished his coffee, I’d inhaled every bite on my plate and was seriously considering licking it clean.
He smiled. “Go ahead. I won’t tell anyone you actually liked something good for you.”
“Good for me?”
“They’re protein pancakes, and the syrup is sugar-free.”
“Shut up. Really? It’s like dessert.”
“It’s fuel. You won’t crash in an hour or reach for a candy bar at ten a.m.”
“I don’t do that every day…” I rinsed the plate and set it in his dishwasher. “Thanks. That was nice of you.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I’m a nice guy.”
I took in the sight of Morning Tucker in all his mussed-hair, shadowed-jaw, coffee-making glory.
He’d housed me.
He’d fed me.
I had no idea what he wanted in return.
His brows went up when he caught me staring. “What?”
I shook my head to clear it. “You remember how I like my coffee.”
His eyes held mine. “I remember how you like everything.”
Cue quiver in inappropriate places…
He grinned.
This man needed a hazard warning. I took a sip, looking for the upper hand. “How was your shower?” I asked sweetly.
“Great.” He slid me a look that both thrilled and terrified me. “Though you should sleep with one eye open.”
I rolled said eyes. “Please. I’ve lived with power tools more dangerous than you.” Lies. All lies. “Oh, and before I forget, your back porch’s railing?” I gestured to the back door with my mug. “You’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t fall and sue.”
“Is that someone going to be you?”
“Ha ha. I can fix it if you want. I’ll even offer a friendly discount.”
“Define ‘friendly.’”
“The kind where I don’t report you to OSHA,” I said breezily.
When I left for work a little later, I was grinning. Was I worried about Tucker’s promise of retribution for the short shower? Yes. Was I also looking forward to it?
Also yes.