Page 27 of Nightmare’s Playground

“Touch it and lose the hand.”

I burst out laughing. “Is it always like this?” I asked, going to the fridge and pulling out the milk, then grabbing a stack of Solo cups from the cabinet.

Sinful Sweets were always best with ice cold milk.

Nightmare moved to stand beside me. “How’d you know that was in there?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool that he was actually talking to me. “I cleaned the place and stocked it with groceries before Denali gave Alex the keys.”

I wanted my brother to be able to decompress without worrying about stupid stuff like whether there was milk in the fridge or toilet paper in the hall closet.

His lips twitched. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

My brow rose. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

Nightmare nodded at the feeding frenzy in front of us. “Taking care of people.”

I thought about it for a half a second and shook my head. “No, I guess I can’t.”

Maybe it was silly, but I never wanted a day to go by without showing the people in my life how much I cared about them.

Chapter Six

Nightmare

Blinking at the ceiling, I laid perfectly still as I listened for what had woken me.

I didn’t have to wait long for the answer. Big Momma, the industrial mixer in the bakery below me, started whirring again.

“Jesus.”

Heaving a sigh, I glanced over at the nightstand and read the time on the clock.

Three-thirty on the dot.

If anything, my girl was punctual.

My eyes shot open wide at the thought.

No. Nope. Negative, Ghost Rider.

Joy was not my girl. Not even close.

The denial left me with a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Why?

Because I was seeing Joy Cullen in a new light. In fact, I hadn’t been able to think about anything but Joy and the trauma she endured at the hands of her father’s enemies, since her brother told me about it.

It was making me fucking crazy.

Every night since he dropped that bomb, I’d been listening to every move she made through the wall that separated us.

My neighbor was a creature of habit.

At three she got in the shower, where my filthy imagination could just picture her soaping up her tight little body.

In the evenings when she was cooking, she blasted Teddy Swims as loud as her radio would go.