Page 6 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

O ne week, three different women.

Today, she’s a brunette, the past two have been blondes. I was starting to think Tyson had a type. Well, I guess he does…it’s not about looks, though. She probably only needs to be willing to have a good time and get the fuck out early in the morning.

They’ve all left shortly after dawn. Before he starts his morning yoga routine, where I can watch from my living room, a cup of steaming coffee in hand. It’s a damn nice wake me up. The view and the caffeine.

He had never struck me as the player type, but I did only know him when he was in a weird sort of committed relationship with Isla. Then, there was that small scandal involving him, which shattered any preconceived notions I had of him.

It’s much more likely that Tyson Murphy is a man-whore than he is the sweet, wholesome guy who had no problem dating a single mom with a ton of baggage. Can he be both? I guess. I’m not one to judge what a grown adult does with their free time, as long as it’s not harming anyone else.

Besides his escapades with random women, I believe he’s still a good guy. He bought Nightmare a gift, after all.

The other day, I arrived home to find a neon green harness and a custom nametag shaped like a heart wrapped up in a gift bag on my doorstep.

It could have only been from him, since nobody else has met the furball of terror yet.

The new harness fits him much better; he won’t be escaping this one, thankfully.

I swear, when he slipped loose and ran across the street, it damn near gave me a heart attack.

This is my first time taking care of something all by myself.

I should have started with a houseplant. But like the bozo I am, I jumped straight off the high dive and into the deep end without so much as a single swimming lesson.

Nightmare has been easy, so far. Other than being particular about food, he doesn’t like kibble, so we tried a handful of wet food varieties to find what he likes.

Salmon was the clear winner. There hasn’t been a single indoor accident, yet anyway.

And he kennels easily when I’m not home and at night.

He seems too easy, honestly. Maybe he’s a cyborg dog, or just broken.

I mean, I’m not complaining. I’d rather have an easy dog than one that eats its way through locked doors or something.

That’s partly why I picked a small breed, I’ve seen plenty of videos of damage via pets.

I pay too much for my little home to have extra cash for unnecessary repairs.

Tyson bends into a position that puts him on all fours. A strange little tickle sparks between my legs, making me blink in surprise. It’s a rare occurrence, at best. What’s more rare than rare? That’s how often I feel any sort of attraction to a real flesh and blood human in front of me.

Willa asked me once if I was asexual and I had to think about it thoroughly.

Which is my way with everything. Except pets, apparently.

Typically, I’m an overthinker. An analyzer to my very bones.

I let her question marinate for a time. After a while, I deduced that I’m not.

I do feel attraction; it simply isn’t common for me.

I’ve seen men that I think are handsome, who define good-looking by my own standards, but it usually stops at appreciation and doesn’t progress past that.

Plus, I like watching pornography. I like getting myself off to images of beautiful people.

It’s the reality of another person in my life that has never held much appeal.

It isn’t that I don’t wish for it. It’s more that I’m terrified of it.

So why now? Why him?

I’ll have to leave those questions to steep, as well.

Likely, whatever it is will dissipate into the ether and no longer matter anyhow.

In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the view he gives me every morning.

It’s a nice show, since he performs his routine in nothing but boxer briefs each day.

Obviously, you have to be in prime form to play in the NHL, but having it on display in front of me every day puts a whole new stamp of appreciation on how hard the guys work at it.

No fat, no flab, no wiggle, or jiggle. Tyson is all taut muscle, thick thighs, bulging biceps.

His burnished curls falling low on his forehead as he contorts from pose to pose.

He rocks his hips toward the mat at the same time I lift my coffee mug to my mouth, missing entirely in my distraction, and the hot fluid dribbles down into my cleavage.

“Damn it,” I curse, causing Nightmare to bounce up from his bed and yelp alertly. “It’s okay, buddy. Just your mom being a dumbass voyeur.”

That’ll teach me.

Or not.

Nightmare follows me to the kitchen to put away my mug, then to my bedroom to find clothes for the day. It’s Saturday, and Willa is going with me to a few secondhand stores, as I’m still on the hunt for more furniture and décor.

The basics are covered—a bed, a sofa, a desk.

Yet it still looks like a minimalist lives here, and that is something I most definitely am not.

I probably lean toward the maximalist side of center.

I like quirky, kitsch, and color. When I’m done with this place, every corner will have something interesting to look at.

Something that spurs my imagination and activates my brain.

My dad called me Chaos as a kid. Not because I ran all over the place wreaking havoc, but because my mind never settled. I would jump from subject to subject, question to question. Never satisfied with whatever new information I’d learned, I always wanted more. I still do.

After a quick shower and a quicker bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal, I’m dressed and ready when Willa arrives.

“You’ll never guess who my neighbor is,” I tell her when I open the door to her.

“Who?”

“Tyson Murphy,” I say. “Just across the street, in that fancy modern house that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the neighborhood.”

“No way! What a weird coincidence,” she says, bending to pick up the dog running circles around her feet. “You must be Nightmare.”

He licks her nose, making her laugh as she coos at him.

“It is strange for a city this size.”

“Definitely, but I like that you have someone we know so close by. I’ll worry less about you.”

“You don’t have to worry at all, I’m a big girl. Besides, I’ve been living on my own for months, now, since you moved in with your men.”

“Yeah,” she says, putting Nightmare down and tossing his toy giraffe for him. “But that was in a secure building. You don’t even have an alarm system here.”

“No, but I’m not exactly in the worst part of town, either.”

“Just promise me you’ll get one installed soon.”

“I promise. Again.” I’ve already told her I would. She offered to pay for it, but that’s silly. I can install one myself.

I think, anyway. YouTube will help, surely.

“He’s fucking cute,” she says, rubbing Nightmare’s head when he trots back with the stuffy in his mouth.

“He is,” I agree. “I feel bad leaving him home alone all day, but he’s done well.”

“That’s good. You ready to go?”

“Yep, let me just put him in his crate,” I tell her. “To your room, Nightmare.”

He bounds toward the kennel, his little bum bouncing side to side, making his nametag jingle on his collar.

“Oh my God, he needs to stop being so damn cute,” Willa says.

“Right? I can’t get over it.” I grab my handbag and follow her out front. As we round Willa’s car, Tyson comes out of his house.

“Willa Cole? That you?” he hollers from across the street.

“As I live and breathe,” she answers in an exaggerated Southern drawl as he crosses the road to us.

“It’s good to see you.” He wraps her up in a hug. I’d be jealous if I could feel such a useless emotion. Jeez…am I jealous?

Am I capable of it? Am I feeling that right now?

No, no. That can’t be it, I’m probably just hungry.

“Hey, Kit,” he says to me after they exchange polite pleasantries with each other.

“Hey. I’ve been meaning to thank you for the gift,” I say. “Just haven’t seen you.”

“Haven’t you?” His brow raises as he asks.

“If you didn’t want an audience, you wouldn’t do it in front of floor-to-ceiling glass,” I answer, rolling my eyes, though heat warms my chest from being caught spying through his window.

“What am I missing?” Willa asks, leaning against her car, her head bouncing between Tyson and me.

“He does yoga in the sunroom up there,” I say, nodding my head toward his house.

“She watches,” he accuses playfully.

“Which means you watch her, too, creeper,” Willa volleys back at him.

“Touché.” Tyson shrugs.

“I can’t help it; you have better form than I do. It’s like a free lesson every morning.”

“Well, you’ll have to find a different teacher for the week. We leave early tomorrow for a six-day road trip.”

“You’ll come back to find me so stiff I won’t be able to bend over to scoop up Nightmare’s poop, I guess,” I say with a shrug.

Tyson laughs. Willa looks at me as curiously as I feel.

“I’ll help clean up when I get back,” he says, as he turns toward his house. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Assuming you have time between visitors,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

“What was that?” he asks, turning around, brow raised but smiling.

“Men between the ages of twenty and twenty-nine are at the highest risk of gonorrhea,” I say, to which Willa cracks up laughing.

“I have never had a sexually transmitted anything,” he says, grinning wider. “And thank fuck I’m getting close to aging out of that demographic.”

“Stay safe,” I say, shrugging.

“I will, thank you for your concern,” he says, bowing formally before walking across the street.

“Have a good trip,” Willa calls after him. She waits until we’re in her car before she addresses me. “You were flirting. With Tyson Murphy, no less.”

“I was not,” I protest.

“You were too!”

“That wasn’t flirting.”

“For you…that was absolutely flirting. Which you don’t do often.”

“It’s nothing,” I dismiss. “Neighborly banter, is all.”

“With some voyeurism sprinkled on top?”

“You have eyes, you’d watch, too.”

“Truth,” she says with a grin. “It’s okay if you’re interested in him. You know that, right?”

“It’s not, and I’m not.”

“Why isn’t it okay to be interested?”

“He’s your sister’s ex-whatever they were.”

“Isla wouldn’t care.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s over her. Besides, you know me well enough to know this too shall pass.”

“I also know you well enough to know this isn’t a normal reaction.”

“If it stays abnormal, we’ll discuss it. For now, it’s not worth conversation.”

“Okay,” she says, accepting my lack of interest. “Let’s go shopping, then.”

“Can we get food, first? I’m starving.”

“Glo’s?”

“Fuck yeah! Smothered hashbrowns sound amazing right now.”

“Rough night?” Willa teases.

“As rough as it gets for me. One of my old coworkers started playing Fallout 76 not long ago and wanted to take advantage of the double XP this weekend. We farmed the queen for hours.”

“I know what very little of that means, but I’m glad you had fun.”

“I did, thank you.”

“What level are you now?”

“Fourteen-hundred and something.”

“Damn, girl,” Willa exclaims. “You were low five-hundreds before I moved out.”

“Yeah, I have less best friend time, now, which means, more game time,” I say. Then, I notice the frown on her face. “Don’t do that, Willa.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have moved in with the guys so quickly.”

“Of course, you should have.”

“But you’re alone.”

“That’s my normal, you know that. It was weird living with someone else,” I tell her. Though we both know it’s a white lie. I loved living with Willa, but I wasn’t upset that she fell in love and moved out. “I like my me time almost as much as I like that you’re happy.”

“I know you do. I worry about you, though.”

“I took care of myself before I knew you. I’m sure I haven’t forgotten how.”

“You didn’t manage breakfast this morning,” she reminds me.

“Okay, true,” I admit. “But only because I was distracted.”

Willa glances my way and laughs.

“By a certain NHL player doing yoga?”

“Shut up,” I say, making her laugh more.

We grab breakfast and conversation steers clear of my neighbor.

Instead, we talk about the trip she’s planning during the off season.

She finished her PhD program last summer.

Zan and Damian promised her a celebratory trip this year.

They’re talking about Thailand in one of those fancy over-the-water bungalows.

Willa is ridiculously excited, and who could blame her?

Two weeks on a beautiful beach sound amazing.

Even I wouldn’t be opposed, although I’m partial to low humidity and lower temperatures.

After breakfast, we hit the first of the secondhand stores we plan to visit. It’s a smaller, carefully curated collection of items. Each one is unique, and I find a side table with a purple giraffe base. It reminds me of Nightmare’s favorite toy, so I can’t pass it up.

Willa snags a vintage duster that looks like something Stevie Nicks would have worn on stage.

The next few stores aren’t as fruitful, but we still manage a couple of treasures.

I’m pooped by the time we get the haul home, unloaded, and I take Nightmare for a walk. When I finally settle for the night in front of my television, there’s a friend request sitting on my Xbox that I hadn’t noticed before.

I click on the profile, realizing it can only be from Tyson, and see a long list of sports games, as well as the shooters that are most popular with men. We do have a handful of games in common, though.

Finding it harmless, since he knows where I live anyway. I accept the request from PuckBuddie.