“Kind of.”
“Is he hot?”
“Like lava.”
Her sister chuckled. “Then why are you in his bathroom?”
She felt silly. And scared. And anxious. And…
“I don’t know if I should be here. I don’t know if I’m ready, and he’s, you know, he has stuff like I do.” Sid swore and played with the end of her hair, twirling it into a tight string.
“Everyone has stuff, trust me. You should do this. Now get your butt out of the bathroom and get naked with this mystery man, and then call me tomorrow, because I want to know everything. And Sid?”
“Yes?”
“This is a good thing. If you made it as far as his bathroom, then you can get the rest of the way to his bedroom and have some hot, mind-blowing sex. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
Kylie hung up on her, and Sid pocketed her cell before pinching her cheeks and applying a touch of gloss to her lips. She washed her hands, tousled her hair, and marched her butt out of the bathroom, only to find Beck nowhere.
She stood in the dark for a bit and then tiptoed back down the hall. Since there was only one door open, she peeked inside. On the bed, stretched out in a pair of jeans and nothing else, was Beck, with the little kitten curled up on his chest. The kitten was purring up a storm while Beck was sound asleep.
They looked adorable. She let out a long breath and scooped the blanket from the end of the bed. She pulled it over him, taking a swipe from the kitten’s paw as the little minx asserted her ownership.
“You can have him for now,” she whispered softly. She eyed the other side of the bed, but Beck was sprawled out on his back, smack dab in the middle. She knew he’d had an intense workweek, then all the hockey today, and with the booze added in, it must have taken its toll.
She headed back out to the living room, found another old knitted throw on the edge of an ancient-looking sofa, and curled up on her side. Not exactly the night she’d envisioned, but for some reason, she was okay with it.
At least for now.
Chapter Eleven
Beck woke up to sunshine streaming through his window, which told him he was already behind. He groaned. God, he ached in places he didn’t think possible, and realized he just might be getting too old for a weekend full of hockey. Everything protested—his arms, his legs, his abs—and he rolled over, face-planted into a pillow, and stayed that way until an annoying little paw made it impossible.
He turned his head and found Jingle one inch away, staring at him intently.
“You hungry?” he asked, rolling off the bed. He stretched his arms over his head and grimaced before heading to the bathroom to take care of business. A few minutes later, still barefoot and shirtless, he padded out to the kitchen, Jingle hot on his heels. The little girl meowed up a storm until he filled her food dish, then she turned into a purring, vibrating ball of fur.
He stared down at her and shook his head. Who knew this kitten would worm her way into his life so completely? And in a week, no less.
He rubbed at the scruff on his face and eyed the coffee machine. Was a pot enough to shake the fog from his head? He’d come home and passed out like an amateur. But the hours of work, coupled with four hockey games in one day and more than his fair share of beer, had a lot to do with it. At least that was the story he was sticking with.
No doubt about it, he was getting older, and it sucked.
He took exactly two steps into the kitchen and stopped cold. Sidney. He turned and stared across the room at the front door, a frown marring his forehead. She was with him last night. She’d come here last night after he’d practically dared her to. And then he’d…
He’d fallen asleep on his bed waiting for her to come to him. What an idiot.
“Jesus,” he muttered, and walked to the living room.
Her boots were at the front door, so she was still here. He found her curled up on the old sofa he’d taken from a house he’d demoed a while back, a ratty old throw his grandmother had given him wrapped around her real good. He couldn’t see her face—her long dark hair was a mess of waves that covered most of it—but a delicate hand was wedged underneath her chin, and the edge of her nose poked out from all that hair.
She was out cold, and, not wanting to disturb her, he headed back to the kitchen as quietly as he could. He made a pot of coffee and, while it was brewing, had a peek in the fridge. He was a pretty good cook, but from the looks of things, he was currently running low on supplies. He had three eggs, a milk carton with a questionable date—but hell, it passed the sniff test—two slices of cheese, half an onion, a slightly shriveled green pepper, and one bagel.
He could work with this.
In no time, he whipped the eggs and milk together and then let them cook over medium-low heat while he chopped up some pepper and onion. He layered that overtop of the eggs, then added the cheese slices on top, grabbed the bagel, which he sliced in two.
His toaster was shot, so he grabbed another pan to grill the bagel, just as Jingle meowed loudly and he turned his head.