Page 16

15

NAVY

After showering and changing into a nightgown, I didn’t expect to see Bodhi still awake as I headed downstairs for a late-night snack.

I also didn’t expect to see Bodhi with his head in a book.

Since when does Bodhi read? Or has he always been a reader and I never paid close enough attention to it?

That’s not right. I’ve always noticed every little detail about Bodhi.

This must be something he doesn’t let many people see.

It’s sort of…cute.

Bodhi personifies a secure man with a face of solid steel.

He never shifts for anyone, means what he says, and lives by the saying, what you see is what you get, and I respect the hell out of him for it.

So, it feels quite domestic to see him this way—comfortable and catching up on literature. Something I never expected to find a man like him doing.

I’ve already descended the stairs, making it impossible for me to go unnoticed. Bodhi’s head turns in my direction and the reading glasses sitting across his nose melt me on the spot.

Holy shit. He’s gorgeous.

I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing Bodhi with glasses on, and it soars my attraction for him to new heights.

The thick black frames are working well for him.

Perfect. Just what I needed—another reason to crave him.

God, I can picture him now…on his knees for me…looking at me with such intensity.

Fuck—I have a glasses kink.

Who would have ever thought? Certainly not me.

He stares at me questionably. “Sorry, I’m hungry,” I tell him.

He chuckles lightly, scooting himself up slightly on the couch before sliding his glasses off and bringing one end to his mouth.

He looks like a blond Clark Kent.

Heaven help me.

I feel a sudden urge to pounce on him. I’m used to acting without thinking, and in those cases, the outcome typically works out in my favor. But with Bodhi, the opposite is required for me to keep my dignity. I have to be methodical in moving forward with our friendship.

Pouncing on him would definitely give him the wrong idea.

“You a late-night snacker?” he asks.

I laugh. “I’d hardly call nine o’clock late, but yes. Where’s the cereal you were eating earlier? I could put down some tiger cereal.”

Bodhi smirks. “Tiger cereal? Do you mean Frosted Flakes ?”

“Nope. I mean tiger cereal. They’re greeeeatttt,” I respond, giving him my best Tony the Tiger impression.

I open the pantry door in search of my current craving but come up empty. I know there’s cereal here somewhere because Bodhi was eating a healthy bowl of the addicting sugary breakfast food.

But where is it?

Bodhi must be watching me from afar as I search for the wicker basket because he calls to me from the couch, “Bottom shelf in the wicker basket.”

Oh, hell to the yeah. There it is.

I slide the massive basket out from the corner of the pantry and find at least twenty stacked and neatly sealed bags of every kind of cereal imaginable.

Fruity Pebbles, Fruit Loops, Tiger cereal, Trix, Honey-Nut Cheerios, Golden Grahams, Lucky Charms, Cinnamon Toast Crunch—limitless sugar coma options.

I reach for the Tiger cereal, slide the basket back in its place, and yell to Bodhi from the pantry, “Why do you keep these babies hidden?”

“Because they’re my favorite.” I turn quickly to find Bodhi directly behind me and in my space. “Oh…mine too…” I reply hesitantly.

He’s so close that I can see every detail of his striking features: the smooth planes of his poreless skin, the brightness of his emerald green eyes, the light stubble adorning his cheeks, and the fullness of his soft lips. I remember vividly caressing every inch of my body.

“Milk,” he interrupts my intimate thoughts as he hands me the gallon.

How did I not hear him?

“Oh, right. Thanks,” I respond, sending Bodhi a small smile.

He nods.

I squeeze past him standing still at the pantry entrance and grab a bowl from the top cabinet to commence my indulgence.

“I never knew you were a fellow cereal lover like me,” I say, doing my best to distract myself and regulate my body temperature back to a normal degree.

Probably noticing the space I left between us, Bodhi heads back to his place on the couch and responds, “Every night.”

Hmm. It seems tonight is a night of learning many new things about the unapproachable Bodhi St. James.

“Interesting,” I say.

“My mother is Cuban-American and would make all of these crazy Hispanic foods for dinner. I was a picky kid and didn’t like any of it. Wild to think about now because I can throw back some ropa vieja and plantanos. I would legit toss my plate of food out when she wasn’t looking and sneak in the kitchen at night for some cereal. I guess I never really stopped.”

“I didn’t know that. That your mother is Cuban-American, I mean,” I tell him honestly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Navy.”

“I can see that. Books too, I’m assuming,” I say as more of a statement than a question.

I make my way to the coffee table in front of Bodhi, who is seated on the couch, and settle myself with a large helping of cereal.

Bodhi nods, watching me intently as I consume my body weight in one sitting. “I picked that up on my own. Do you read? I don’t think I ever asked you that.”

I shake my head at the thought. “No. I can’t keep still long enough to focus, and if I do, I’m falling asleep.” I giggle. “Unless I’m sketching.”

“Sketching?” Bodhi looks at me, puzzled.

“Yep.” I nod. “Fashion and interior design. I love it.”

“I guess that explains all the notebooks.”

“Were you snooping in my room? When was this?” I tease him.

“Your door was open, and I might have peeked my head in to see what you’ve done with the place. You are a very chaotic woman.”

I giggle and send him a small smile as I finish my cereal. “I think there might be a lot of things you don’t know about me , catcher.”

“You’d be surprised how much I already know about you, Navy.”

I feel the weight of his stare on me as I look anywhere but at him.

Is this the start of a bridge between us? We fought it out in the alley, apologized, and now we attempt a friendship?

It feels like we’re starting over from scratch.

We both have accepted and come to terms with our new relationship as friends and are building the groundwork.

I love it and hate it all at the same time.

Six months ago, Bodhi knew everything about me. Now, he hardly knows where I am or where I’m going, even while living under the same roof.

I stand to take my dish to the sink and make a point to leave it there for the hell of it. I feel Bodhi’s eyes follow me.

Before heading back to the living room, I grab my sketchbook out of my purse on the hall tree and settle on the sofa’s chaise lounge.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I won’t talk or anything while you read. I want to draw a little before bed,” I ask him quietly.

His stare lifts to mine above his glasses. “You never have to ask, Navy. My home is your home. Stay a while.”

A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach, and I’m immediately hit with sadness over my conflicting feelings for him. This is the side of Bodhi I fell for, which I can no longer let affect me.

“Okay,” I whisper before snuggling myself with the nearest throw blanket and starting on my sketch.

I’ll enjoy him as my friend and let the dust between us continue to settle. As much as the distance between us is the opposite of what I ever wanted, I’m thankful the olive branch has been extended, and we can spend time together.

Right now, it’s with him reading and me sketching.

It feels good.