I slide the shower door open and spread my arms. “Are you saying this is something to laugh at? My cock’s still at half-mast from my morning pudge.”
“Nope. Nothing to laugh about there.” She grins.
“Are you sure you’re not going to join me?” I ask, as I recognize just how much that disappoints me, how much I suddenly dislike that I’m giving her lessons so she can please another man. What the fuck was I thinking?
“If I do, things will happen.” I give her a naughty grin that tells her she’s not wrong, and she shakes her head. “I’ll never get to work on time. And I’ve got a busy day. So do you.”
“Right. I’ll pick you up tonight before we go to Penn and Jaylynn’s.”
“I can drive myself there. I have to shower and change into clean clothes after work anyway. And I don’t want to put you out.”
I love how easy the morning-after is for us. I wasn’t sure how she’d feel. Embarrassed, maybe, or thinking we’d crossed a line we shouldn’t. But there’s a happiness about her, a teasing spark. I think she needed the sex as much as I did.
I point at her. “But I love putting out.”
She snatches up a washcloth and throws it at me. “Don’t I know it.”
I catch the cloth midair. “Hey, that’s cotton abuse. A crime that comes with punishment.”
“Promises, promises,” she tosses back as she walks away. “My Uber should be here in a minute.”
I wanted to drive her, but she’s used to her independence, so I didn’t argue.
“I’ll see myself out.”
“Make sure you get something to eat. I still have some of those muffins you love in the freezer.”
Jesus, look how domesticated we already are.
“I’ll probably take you up on that,” she calls over her shoulder before leaving the room.
I finish washing up and grab a towel to dry off. When I walk back into the bedroom, I see she’s made the bed and my clothes are in the hamper. I step up to the bed and laugh out loud when I find her torn panties sprawled across it.
My souvenir.
I plan to get many, many more.
I drop onto the bed, still grinning, but as I look around my pristine room, a part of me feels a pang of loneliness. Other than the panties, there’s no sign she was even here, and that bothers me.
Growing up in an inn, as an only child, the place was always chaotic, especially during the holidays. There was always someone to talk to, play with, or cook and share meals with. When Jesse, who grew up in Halifax, told us about the famous Maritime kitchen parties, I compared Snowberry to that. I miss it. It was crazy at times, sure, but I miss it. And last night… I had it with Rowyn. She brought life to this house. To me.
What was it like for her, growing up in a single-family home with a mother who might have resented her? Judging by the order of my room and the dedication she gives her career, her childhood must have been extremely structured… maybe even harsh. She doesn’t talk about it much, only opening up briefly the other day, but it’s clear her mother wants her daughter to put her career first, so she won’t have to rely on anyone, or get left behind with a child to raise, on her own.
But is that what Rowyn really wants? She says it is, but I’m not entirely sure.
I slick my hands through my hair and get dressed for practice. Downstairs, I hear the door open and click closed. I walk to the window and see Rowyn climbing into the back seat of a car. She glances up, and my heart pumps when she gives a little wave. I wave back and watch her drive away.
I head downstairs. A cup is waiting for me on the counter, a pod in the coffee machine, and a plate with a still-frozen muffin. My chest squeezes at her thoughtfulness. I laugh and press the button to start brewing. I’m about to stick the muffin in the microwave when my phone pings. It’s Penn, letting me know a few guys are at the Nook, grabbing a bite before practice.
A little team camaraderie before we hit the ice sounds just about right. Now, I just need to get this permanent smirk off my face so I’m not walking around like a hormonal teen who got laid last night. Not that anyone would notice… okay, maybe everyone would notice. Definitely everyone. Ugh.
The coffee machine beeps, so I take a few big sips to fuel myself for the drive. I set the cup down, trying to savor the quiet morning like I used to, but it’s gone. Quiet mornings now come with a side of ‘holy crap, I can’t stop thinking about her’. I grab my keys from the bowl, sliding them into my pocket, and mentally debate if I should give Rowyn a spare key. Couples do that, right? You share keys, trust, and occasionally your Netflix password. I snatch up my wallet, toss on a light coat, and head outside.
The morning sun is bright, the streets buzzing with life. I maneuver through traffic toward the Nook, cursing under my breath as I hunt for parking. Finally, I snag a spot and pause, just for a second. Rowyn… is she grabbing coffee at her favorite spot? Maybe flirting with hot coffee shop guy. Maybe laughing too loud, hair messy, her eyes sparkling?
I should hope she is.
But I don’t. Dammit.