Page 107 of Buckin' Around

Where did that come from?

I know exactly where . . . wishful thinking.

When we walk into Ivy’s room, the crib is set up. The furniture is rearranged. A mobile hangs over the crib. Her dresser holds a photo of her and me next to something that looks suspiciously like a music box and a vase of dried flowers. The new curtains that have sat in boxes for a week are hung and tied back to let the summer breeze in.

My throat bobs.

Riley’s made us a family.

She’s made this little old cottage a home for Ivy and me.

And what have I given her?

Complications.

Less time to study and take care of herself...

Fuck. FUCK.

I settle Ives down and leave her with her bottle and Mr. Fluffy for the night. I find a small bunny night-light on a side table by the door and turn it on. Leaving Ivy to fall asleep, I run my hands through my hair as a yawn finds me.

This old man is tired.

Shower first.

The shower is on when I make it down the hall. Steam billows from the open door, the mirror steamed up and Riley’s clothes from today folded neatly on top of the laundry basket.

I tug my shirt off the best I can, losing my jeans and underwear next.

I know she’s mad at me.

I know she thinks this is too hard.

But the only thing I don’t know right now is how to not be close to her. She can be mad at me—no, livid—while I’m wrapped around her.

I step into the shower and pull the glass door shut.

She can beat my chest while she?—

“Spencer,” Riley hisses, turning back, the long, sleek mass of her hair over her shoulder, covering one breast.

I figure I have two options.

One, she takes at least thirty seconds to gather her senses and stalks out of this shower space. That buys me twenty to give her my pitch.

Two, she caves and gives in to this thing between us that’s been tearing at my self-control for months.

I know which one I’d prefer.

She doesn’t move, her expression not softening, and I guess she’s going with the first.

Fuck.

She really has to fight me on everything, this little woman of mine.

I mean, I have always liked a challenge, but I really don’t want my chances of screwing this up to exist at all.

“Only one shower, baby, and this old man is tired.”