BOOKSDRAMA Skate the Line: Chapter 32
My head pounds, and every noise sounds like a dying cat screeching.
I slept the entire flight home, cursing the team each time I’d stir. I can’t believe I let them talk me into going out after the game, but they made their case, and at the time, it made sense.
Since Emory signed with us, we’ve all gotten closer. We’re better than we’ve ever been, though still need to work out the kinks, but bonding is a big part of that, even if the thought made me itchy at the beginning of the night.
Two shots in and I no longer felt that way.
Four shots in and I had lost all sense of restraint.
Most of the single guys were on the dance floor with random women.
I was in the booth, texting Sunny in between watching those videos of her painting that she desperately wants taken down from the internet.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Emory snorted each time I’d pull my phone out.
Though, at one point, he was even watching the videos of her furiously working over a canvas with colorful paints. It was pretty damn mesmerizing.
Malaki eventually snatched it out of my hand with a cocky smirk on his face that I wanted to wipe off with my fist.
“Afraid of men?” Malaki asked after reading my screen.
I glanced away, refusing to spill her secrets.
“That’s unnerving. Do we need to fuck someone up?”
I grunted. If I knew who it was, yes.
“There. Problem solved.”
It took me far too long to read what he’d typed, but he assured me I’d thank him in the morning.
Which I did. Silently.
Things could have taken a turn for the worse, and I could have lost the best nanny I’ve ever had. Ellie would have been devastated, and I would have been granted the worst dad ever award.
I pull in front of the house and sit in my truck for a few seconds to mentally prepare myself to face Sunny. I’m man enough to apologize for my inappropriate texts, but I’ll only do so if she acts awkward.
Maybe she’ll just do what Malaki said and pretend I wasn’t drunk-texting her and implying things that are completely inappropriate.
Shit.
My hand moves across my in-need-of-a-shave face.
Since when do I get all bent out of shape over a woman? Usually, I’d be nonchalant, and I wouldn’t give a damn what was thought about me or how I made her feel.
I pause outside of the door with my bag slung over my shoulder.
I’m afraid to lose her.
Not in the way that most men would be, I’m sure. But as a single father who is struggling to make up for Ellie not getting the attention she deserves and for her lack of a mother, I am.
I sigh and go inside. I’m immediately hit with Sunny’s signature scent.
Coconut.
My mouth waters.
The floors are shiny, and I’m comforted that her shoes are tucked neatly underneath the entryway table.
At least I didn’t scare her off.
I place my keys in the catch-all basket and drop my bag near her shoes.
The sound of feet shuffling on the floor catches my attention. I slowly head toward the noise and find her in the kitchen with her back facing me.
Tight leggings draw my attention to her curves.
A hot swallow works itself down to the pit of my stomach where my conscience lies.
She’s bent over, paying close attention to whatever is on the counter, giving me even more room to trace her perfect round peach.
The messy bun on top of her head flops when she straightens and places one hand on her hip. She’s wearing headphones and…an apron?
I grip the top of the arch in the wall, digging my fingers into the molding. I suddenly regret rejecting the handful of women who slid beside me last night in hopes of going back to the hotel with me.
“Poz–” Sunny mutters.
I narrow my gaze.
Sunny clears her throat and tries again. “Pozhalusta.”
The word please in Russian flows from behind her lips, and all I can imagine is her beneath me, withering and pleading with me to put her out of her misery—and for fuck’s sake.
I abruptly drop my hands from the ledge and stalk into the kitchen.
She says a couple more words in Russian. She’s obviously gotten a hold of more tapes from Ellie.
She is completely unaware that I’m behind her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be swinging her hips around like she is. As if they’re a magnet, I follow them each time. My breathing is suddenly sharp and fast.
When I get close enough, I lift one side of her headphones to make my presence known. Her scream is ear-piercing. She quickly twists, losing her headphones in the process, and knocks whatever piece of clay she’s painting off of the counter.
I may be hungover, but I was born with hockey reflexes.
The small sculpture lands in the palm of my hand.
I peer at her from below. “Ty uronila eto.”
Sunny’s wide gaze drops to my mouth as the foreign language flows with ease into the kitchen. A line of confusion appears in between her eyebrows as she tries to make sense of what I said.
I chuckle while standing upright, now towering over her. “I guess you need more practice with those tapes.”
Being this close to her makes me do stupid things. I disregard the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do and bring up last night. “I told you that you were clumsy.”
Her gasp hits me in the chest. “I am not clumsy!” The pink of her cheeks matches the paint smeared on her apron. “You scared me. That was entirely your fault!”
“I told you that the house is secure, though.” I place the little clay…thing…onto the counter beside her paints. I give her a once-over. She’s adorably messy with paint smearing her apron and hands. Her face is clear of heavy makeup, only a pinkish hue to her cheeks and her brown look warmer than usual with some kind of shimmer on her eyelids.
“Yeah, well…” Sunny’s gaze darts behind me before she fully turns back around. “You just never know.”
“I do know. This house is perfectly safe, Sunny.”
I step away, putting some distance between us, because for some insane reason, I have the urge to touch her just to drive my point further.
“Whatever you say, Oscar.” Her voice grows lighter, and I’m thankful she isn’t harping on last night.
“Oscar?” I scoff.
I head for the fridge, knowing there’s something in here that will help me cure my hangover.
Drinking in your thirties isn’t what it was in your twenties.
Ah, Pedialyte. Score.
I turn toward her and unscrew the cap. “I let you sleep in my bed, and I’m still being called Oscar?”
Sunny eyes the orange drink I’m gulping and rolls those pretty eyes. “What an amateur,” she jokes.
The empty bottle slaps onto the counter. With the back of my hand, I wipe the excess off my mouth. “It’s been a while since I’ve drank more than a single beer. I don’t have much tolerance anymore.”
A quick smile catches my attention, but her lips roll together before it can fully spread against her face. I know exactly what she’s thinking. She’s recalling what Malaki said to her in an attempt to save my ass from scaring her off.
That means it’s time to nip this in the bud before anything can get twisted.
And by twisted, I mean twisted into the truth, because I was absolutely referring to me fucking her to help her get over her fear of men.
My dick did the talking last night.
He and I are at odds right now.
A soft giggle leaves her, and I snap to attention.
“Something funny?” I ask.
Her denial comes quickly. The bun on her head shakes. “Nope.”
I cross the invisible line I’ve drawn in the kitchen and move closer to her. I can see her glance at me in her peripheral vision. “Are you thinking about my drunk-texting last night?”
“No. Of course not.” Her hand pauses with the paintbrush on the…what the hell is that thing? “I’m glad you were out having some fun. You deserve it.”
“Well, I want to clear something up.”
She peeks at me. “If this is about me sleeping in your bed…”
I place my palm on the counter beside the piece of pottery, or clay, whatever it is. “It’s not.”
The paintbrush, covered in green paint, hovers in between us. “Okay.”
I watch her closely. Her big brown eyes peer at me, and for once, I actually feel bad for lying. “I wasn’t implying that we sleep together last night when I said I could help you with your…problem.”
Sunny’s shoulders straighten. Her jaw tightens, and the pink color on her cheeks deepens. “I didn’t think that,” she declares. “Of course you didn’t mean that.”
How couldn’t I mean that? Look at her.
“Right,” I agree with her. “I was referring to giving you time off for dates…” I skip my gaze elsewhere because anyone with a pulse could see right through me. “Or doing a background check on someone if you were to go on a date with them.” Sunny nibbles on her lip, like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. “You know, just to make you feel safer. Maybe take the edge of fear away.”
I’ll likely do a background check with or without her request.
Our gazes snag.
There’s no way she’s believing this.
I have a knot in my stomach, and I don’t think it’s from the hangover.
Am I nervous? Anxious? Perturbed at the thought of her going on a date?
“That’s…” She clears her throat. “Kind of you.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as such.”
Her cheek lifts with a turn of her head, and it hits me right in the chest. She goes back to busying herself with her project and says, “You’re kind underneath all those gruff layers. It just takes some digging to get there.”
I’m only kind to her.
And Ellie, but that doesn’t count. She’s five, and she’s my daughter.
I haven’t known Sunny for long, yet it feels like I’ve known her for a lot longer.
“I’m sorry,” I say abruptly. “But what the fuck is that?”
She snaps her attention to me. It only takes a second for a soft smile to spread across her pretty face. “It’s Pascal.”
I blink, and suddenly my head pounds again. “What?”
She rolls her eyes, and my breath catches. I take a deep breath, hopeful she mistakes it for annoyance rather than what her eye roll actually does to me.
I stare at the clay figure a little longer, noticing two large eyes and the most delicate markings on the entirety of it. Is that a—
Sunny’s phone is suddenly in my face, and I can’t help it. I laugh.
“The green lizard from Ellie’s favorite movie?” I ask.
“Not a lizard,” she corrects me. “A chameleon!”
God, why is she so perfect?
“Ellie is going to love that,” I say. “What’s the occasion? Her birthday isn’t for another six months.”
Fuck, isn’t Sunny’s birthday soon?
She beams with warmth. “I told you I like to make people happy. I figured it’d put a smile on her face.” It will. “And I miss working with my hands.” She thinks for a moment. “I miss painting too.”
Good with her hands? I push off from the counter and put some space between us because my mind goes right to the gutter.
“You still need to teach me to braid.” I throw the empty bottle of Pedialyte into the trash.
Her back is facing me again, and I can’t help but let my gaze skip down to her tight leggings again. She bends and grabs the paintbrush, using it to color the lizard’s—I mean, chameleon’s—tongue.
“Tonight,” she says, too focused to glance back at me.
“Tonight?” I repeat.
This time, she pins me with those big brown eyes. “I’m going to teach you to braid, so rest up and rid yourself of that hangover.”
I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looks pleased with herself. Her coy smile forces me to turn and head upstairs to rid myself of a lot more than a fucking hangover.