Page 19

I pull on his shorts and roll the waistband three times until they're somewhat snug around my hips instead of falling straight to the floor.

Then I take all the clothes I have with me and head to the laundry room since I need to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be wrapped up in him.

The apartment is dark. The only light spilling into the room is from under Cade’s bedroom door.

My pulse betrays me at the thought of what’s behind it.

Black bedding, maybe? No. Sacramento green.

The color of his eyes when he’s deep in thought.

Those eyes. Those stupidly pretty eyes that make me feel seen even when I don’t want to be.

I force myself down the hall, push open the laundry room door, and shove the clothes into the washer with more force than necessary. I find a detergent pod and toss it in, my mind already wandering to dangerous places.

Will my sweatshirt smell like him when it's done?

Pathetic. I'm standing in a hockey player's luxury apartment, using his personal washing machine, and all I can think about is how to make my ratty clothes smell like him long after I'm gone. I've officially hit rock bottom and started digging.

I shut the machine and head back to the bedroom, stopping short when I see Stanley sprawled across my bed, his tail thumping lazily against the comforter.

“Well, aren’t you making yourself comfortable?” I murmur, scratching behind his ear. He shifts just enough to let me crawl under the sheet beside him.

The second my body sinks into the mattress, a sound escapes my lips that would make a porn star blush.

It's a breathy, embarrassing groan of relief that's loud enough to wake the dead.

I slap a hand over my mouth, my heart skidding to a stop, waiting.

Listening out for Cade because I'm certain half the building heard that obscene noise.

Nothing.

Satisfied I haven't completely mortified myself, I turn the light off and pull the blanket up to my chin like a shield against reality.

Stanley shifts, settling over my feet like a personal furry heater, and I smile into the darkness.

Is this what contentment feels like? This warm, safe feeling that makes my chest ache with how much I want to keep it?

Knock. Knock.

Soft and hesitant, the door slowly opens with a creak.

Cade pokes his head through the door. “Stanley,” he whisper-shouts. Stanley doesn’t move, but I can still feel his tail thumping against the bed.

The door creaks open a little wider, the faint light of the hallway seeping in. That’s when Cade takes a little step into the room. “Stanley, come on.”

“He’s okay in here,” I say, wiggling my toes to give Stanley’s belly a scratch.

“Oh.” Cade sounds startled. “I’m sorry, Savannah. Didn’t realize you were still awake.”

I can't see his facial expression in the darkness, but he sounds embarrassed, his voice pitched lower than usual. It's only when he takes another step into the room and the sliver of hallway light hits his chest in just the right way that I realize he's not wearing a shirt.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly bone-dry as I take in his muscular frame.

He looks better than I imagined—and I've done plenty of imagining.

Every defined muscle, every scar, every tattoo I never knew existed, all illuminated by that treacherous strip of light.

If I died right now, at least I'd go with this image burned into my retinas.

“No problem,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly weak. “He can stay.”

“You sure? I can take him out. It’s not an issue.”

“I'm sure.”

“Okay, but if he bathes you in kisses and you don't like it, just call me. He can sleep with me.” His voice has that playful edge that makes my stomach do somersaults.

Bathing me in kisses. Sleeping with him. Mhm. Why am I thinking about how much I'd like to do that with Stanley's owner instead of his dog? How those lips would feel trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, lower…

Not that he'd ever think about me like that at all. Girls who live in their cars and dance at seedy clubs aren't exactly in the dating pool for future NHL stars.

“Sure thing,” I whisper, grateful for the darkness hiding the blush that's probably turned my face the color of a fire engine.

And just like that, Cade shuts the door and is gone again.

No lingering. No suggestive comments. Never taking advantage.

Only ever giving when everyone else in my life just takes and takes until there's nothing left.

True to his word, he hasn't tried to have sex with me and he's given me my own bedroom for the night like I'm a person worthy of respect instead of a body to be used.

Something about it doesn't feel right, though.

Guys like him don't rescue girls like me from chicken joint parking lots.

Yet here I am, falling asleep in his clothes, wrapped in his scent, dreaming about the boy sleeping just on the other side of that hall.

A hall that might as well be the Grand Canyon for all the distance it represents between our worlds.