Page 23 of No Shot (The Toronto Tundra #2)

Penn

I kid you not, I slept a total of four hours last night.

Yet, I woke up this morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, watching the clock every hour.

Damn it, I ’ m excited to see her. She was one hundred percent avoiding me, and I fully intend to find out why.

I ’ ve been told I ’ m obnoxiously persistent, even annoying at times, and she ’ s piqued my intrigue more than anyone ever has.

As soon as the clock hits five, I ’ m out the door, practically skipping toward her place. I glance down at the tank top I threw on this morning, already imagining the look on her face when she sees it. A grin spreads across my face. She ’ s going to roast me for it. Can ’ t wait.

Knocking our code, Soup-is-a-scaredy-cat, because duh, she is, I wait, rocking on my heels.

A faint commotion echoes behind the door, but no footsteps.

Huh. I knock again, a lot louder this time.

After a chair scraping, some loud shuffling, and a sigh, the door swings open, and my smile falls.

An uneasiness settles in my stomach the moment I spot her.

Bri looks… off. I ’ ve grown used to seeing her so put together.

Usually sporting a color-coordinated outfit with jewelry, classy makeup, and neatly styled hair.

Today, with her hair hanging out of a bun, mismatched socks, worn blue sweatpants, and a ripped t-shirt, I barely recognize her.

But it ’ s not her attire that ’ s throwing me, it ’ s her eyes.

They ’ re tired, with deep lines circling underneath like she hasn ’ t slept.

Her usual fiery spirit looks extinguished. My muscles tense as I swallow against the dryness in my throat.

“ What ’ s wrong?” I can ’ t even pretend to suppress the concern in my voice.

“ N-nothing.” She brushes her hands down her sweatpants, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She ’ s not giving me eye contact, though, and the worry in my gut only grows. “ What ’ s up?”

“ We had planned to do a grocery shop,” I remind her. Her hand comes to her forehead, before settling on her cheek, with her eyes closed, she lets out a long sigh.

“I forgot.” She swallows hard, breaking eye contact again.

Glancing briefly down at her clothes, she pulls the door halfway shut, shielding most of her body.

“ Can we… I don ’ t feel that great… um, raincheck?

” I ’ ve never seen her so flustered, the change in her entire demeanor putting me in a state of unease.

A sharp, smoky scent hits me. Confused, I take a half step forward, sniffing the air. It ’ s like a bonfire. A comforting smell in the vast wilderness, but wildly concerning in a Toronto highrise. Yeah, that is definitely not supposed to be happening.

“ Is something burning?”

She finally looks up at me again, blinking a few times like her brain is buffering.

Then, in an instant, her eyes widen—and she bolts.

Of course, I whip open the door to follow.

And if I happen to need to transform into the hot fireman who rescues the damsel in distress? Well, sacrifices must be made.

What did I expect to find? Maybe a burning casserole.

Potentially a dish towel that caught on fire.

An overflowing pot of oil… but I certainly was not expecting to see Bri crouched down on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, staring at a black square in her hands.

Her lower lip wobbles as the ache in my stomach grows. She ’ s crying over a—

“ I j-just want-ted a… P-Pop-Tart.” Every word is punctuated with a sniffle as my chest tightens.

She ’ s holding the brutally burnt wanna-be toaster pastry in her hands, bits of charcoal falling with every one of her movements.

The tears just keep streaming down her face, and I don ’ t know what to do.

I hate this feeling, like I ’ m so helpless.

I slowly walk over, bending down to take the wrecked fire hazard from her shaking hands before chucking it into the sink and dousing it with water for good measure. I then return, wrapping my arms around her body, securing her head against my beating chest.

“ It ’ s okay,” I whisper into her hair, hoping she ’ s able to hear me through her sobs.

The entire place looks dishevelled, but I focus on the girl clinging to me.

“ I—” She takes shallow, rapid breaths in quick succession, struggling to get oxygen. Panic prickles at the back of my neck. I rub big circles on her back.

“ Shh, deep breaths.” At my words, she sucks in a single huge gasping breath, but the tremors in her body don ’ t stop. Her breathing stays shallow, panicked.

I don ’ t know what else to do. I just want to make it better. “ Everything ’ s going to be okay,” I repeat a little louder.

Her sobs begin to fade, leaving us in heavy silence. “ I ’ m tired,” she breathes, like saying the words alone takes effort.

“ We ’ re just resting,” I assure her. “ Nothing to worry about.” I ’ ll make sure of it.

It shouldn ’ t make me smile how comfortable it is to have her in my arms. How great it feels to be this close to her.

But it does. I ’ m supposed to be the one comforting her, but hell, something about this feels right at home.

“ I ’ m supposed to be tough.” Her broken voice hits like a punch to the gut, sharp and unexpected.

“ Are you kidding me? You ’ re tough, Soup.” She shakes her head.

“ T-thought I was. Thought I could do this.” A hot tear lands on my arm as her body shakes with a silent cry. “ I chose to do this, and I don ’ t know if I can.”

I don ’ t know what she ’ s talking about exactly, but honestly, it doesn ’ t matter.

“ You can do it. There ’ s not a doubt in my mind. Okay?” I try to get her to look at me, but she tucks her head closer into my chest. Honestly, it feels so nice, I don ’ t dare to fight her on it.

“ A-and I really wanted that Pop-Tart.” I chuckle.

“ I bet you did. Come on.” I tug on her arm. Surprise, surprise, she resists me. Atta girl.

“ Where are we going?” She rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. God, her eyes. They ’ re the most spectacular shade of blue. Even now, she ’ s so naturally beautiful.

“ To my place,” I reply, urging her to follow me.

“ Why?” Questions… questions. Can never be simple with this one, eh?

“ Because my place has a bath and yours doesn ’ t. Aren ’ t you a mathematician or something? Shouldn ’ t you know baths solve fifty percent of all problems?”

“ Doubt it,” she mumbles, but she follows me back to my apartment.

She ’ s quiet, letting me lead her to my bathroom. It ’ s pretty spacious in here, and I make sure to get it cleaned every two weeks to keep it tidy.

“ Now, before I proceed, I need to make sure you ’ re sworn to secrecy.”

“ You ’ re not going to like, whip out your dick, right?” I smile, loving the sass returning. Looks like she ’ ll make a full recovery. All will be right in the world soon.

“ I like where your head is at, but no, that wasn ’ t the plan.

” I bend down, opening the cabinet under the sink.

Grabbing the handle, I pull out my giant, masculine as fuck, bath basket.

It ’ s got the funky bath balms that smell like fruit, the high-quality Epsom salt my mom gets me for Christmas, loofahs, the expensive candles, and my inflatable neck pillow.

“ Don ’ t tell the guys I like baths. I ’ ve got a reputation to uphold, got it?”

“ Wouldn ’ t dream of it.”

“ Good.”

Bri stands quietly in the corner of the room while I get to work setting up all my best stuff before letting the tub fill with hot water.

Zipping out of the room, I snag some oversized sweats for her to change into.

Next stop, my linen closet. I grab a fluffy towel and my waterproof iPod dock, the ultimate secret bathtime weapon.

By the time I ’ m back, the entire room smells like lavender and vanilla, perfect for helping to calm her body.

I leave the towel and clothes on the vanity and plug in my iPod, shuffling the calming rain playlist. Yep, that should do it, I think.

“ Rain sounds?” she asks.

“ Life-changing, I ’ m telling you. No choice but to feel calm listening to…

Thundering Rainstorm in Exotic Jungle During Rainy Season?

” It ends like a question, because geez, how many descriptors can they fit in a song title?

She doesn ’ t seem to mind. The faintest hint of a smile starts forming, which makes my heart beat a little harder.

“ Take your time, okay? You just need to relax for a little bit.” She ’ s back to looking a little lost. “ Do you need anything else?”

“ Could you grab my notebook for me? My key is on the counter.” Absolutely not. That ’ s what got her into this.

“ You ’ re banned. I ’ m forcing you to take a break. Just chill.” She bites her lip, staring at the floor.

“ Penn?”

“ Yeah?”

“ Thanks.”

“ Don ’ t mention it.” With that, I shut the door. Not how I planned on spending the day, but I am not complaining.

I make quick work of my mental to-do list. Pulling out my phone, I order some groceries to be delivered, ten dollars for express delivery? The deal of the century. Once that ’ s settled, it takes no time at all to zip over to her apartment.

The place looks like a tornado blew through, nothing like the first time I was over.

Probably nothing like how she likes to keep it either.

I doubt the chaos is helping her mental state.

Papers cover every inch of her counter, books are open on the coffee table and couch, and highlighters seem to have been frustration-flung around the room.

I ’ m careful to add little post-it tabs to every open page before neatly stacking everything.

Once I ’ ve picked a few things up, I get to work on the faint burning smell, taking out the garbage, and cracking open a window to get some fresh air in.

Pleased with my work, I head back over, relieved to see she ’ s still in my bathroom. She needs this time for herself.