Sweet (Landry Family 6)

I toss to my left side. Again. Then back to my right.

How did I think having Paige in my house would be fine?

At least at work, the flirtation ends at the end of the night. Now I can’t get the hell away from it. She’s here when I wake up and when we have dinner. I have to hear her in the shower and know she’s all wet and naked and all that separates the two of us is the door.

Fuck.

My legs fly off the side of the bed—clad in black joggers because now that she’s here, I can’t walk around in my boxer briefs… can I? … and groan. There’s no point in lying here. I’m not going to fall asleep.

I quietly open my door and step into the living room. The house is dark, quiet enough to hear the leaves rustling outside the window as I walk past. I make my way into the kitchen, turn on the light over the stove, and then rummage around the fridge. A stack of pudding cups is in the back. I take out a butterscotch Snack Pack and close the door.

“Shit,” I say, flinching in surprise.

Standing in the doorway is the person of my nightdreams. Because that’s a thing now. Paige Carmichael is a mixture of a nightmare and a dream.

She’s dressed in a pair of short shorts that barely hide the curve of her ass and a tight black tank top. The fabric looks like it’s made out of silk, and all I can think about is how it would feel directly against my skin.

“You’re staring,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.

“I was trying to figure out …” Whether to fuck you or fight you. “I didn’t expect anyone to be standing there.”

She yawns. “Got an extra pudding?”

I hand her mine, avoiding any physical contact whatsoever. Then I grab myself a replacement.

“Butterscotch?” She quirks a brow. “Interesting choice.”

“They’re the best.”

“Never had it.”

I pull out two spoons from a drawer and hand her one. “It’s about to blow your mind.” I spot a twinkle in her eye and stay one step ahead of her. “No innuendos after midnight.”

She laughs. “You’re no fun.”

I grin at her as I peel back the lid of my snack. “What keeps you up tonight?”

“I don’t know. I never sleep.”

“Me either.”

We take spoonfuls of the pudding quietly. She nods appreciatively.

“Okay, that’s good,” she says, licking her lips. “Very good.”

“I told you.”

“Mind blown.” She winks at me before digging in for another scoop. “I might just add dessert to my nighttime routine. It’s much more pleasant than what I usually go for.”

I lick my spoon. “Which is?”

As soon as I ask, I regret it.

Paige hops up on the counter, her thick thighs pressing against the countertop in a way that makes it hard not to stare. She licks her spoon, running her tongue around it and watching me.

Fuck.

“Forget it,” I say and lean back against the opposite counter.

She plunks the spoon in the pudding and sets it beside her. “I was going to say that I lie awake and play the What-If game with myself, pretending I can rewrite history. It’s fun. You should try it. You’ll feel like a complete loser and will second-guess every life choice you’ve ever made. Guaranteed to cause anxiety.”

“That sounds like a good use of your time.”

“It’s better than being all curled up in my blankets, drifting off to sleep but just before I get there, my heart starts blasting in my chest like an air horn. I sit up in a panic and imagine a creepy person is standing in the corner jacking off.”

She smiles as if it’s somehow going to take the edge off her statement.

“What the hell?” I set my pudding down too. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah.” She sighs, her smile wobbling until it vanishes altogether. “I stayed with a family when I was really little. It was just after Hollis and I got put into foster care. They separated us, for some reason, and the people I lived with had a son. He was probably fourteen or fifteen, I guess.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. I think she might backtrack and stop telling me this story. A part of me hopes she does. My heart is racing so fast that I think I might go find this little punk if the story goes the way I fear it might. But another part of me hopes she opens up to me.

I give her space and don’t push. I just stand with her in the kitchen and allow her the choice to tell me more or not.

“He used to sneak into my room once everyone was in bed,” she says, her voice softer this time. “I’d wake up when I heard the door. Light would stream in for a split second. Then he’d stand in the corner and just watch me.”