A warmth unleashes in my chest and pulls the corners of my lips into an achingly wide grin. “Yeah, I’m home.” I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. “So, how did it go with Bond?”
“He left holding his rib tonight, so pretty damn good, if you ask me.”
“Isn’t training supposed to mean helping each other get better?” I ask, flipping on the light in the kitchen. “It sounds to me when you ‘work out’ with him, it’s a little more serious than that.”
“Any time two men are fighting, whether it’s sparring or actually going at it, there’s ego on the line. Factor in that it’s him I’m in there with and there’s a whole new dimension to consider.”
As he rants about how much he dislikes Bond, I find a carton of chocolate frozen yogurt in the freezer and sit down at the table with a spoon. “I still think you should just stop fighting altogether.”
“Not your choice.”
Stabbing my spoon in the dessert with a little more gusto than necessary, I sigh. “I know it’s not my choice. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want my opinion on the matter.”
“If you know that’s true, you’d think you’d stop throwing it out there left and right.”
There’s a moment of silence, one that worries me every time it happens. I find myself holding my breath, my chest burning, as I stare off into space and brace myself for him to give me a bullshit answer and end the call. One of these days, it’s going to happen.
I’m surprised it hasn’t yet. When I pulled my door open last summer, looking like a sweaty mess, I didn’t expect to see him on the other side. I didn’t expect to have my knees get all wobbly or my stomach turn to mush at the smile he sent my way.
There was no way to predict I would’ve been handing my phone number over to the air conditioner repair guy a few hours later or that I’d be enjoying a hamburger and French fry dinner with him the next evening. Least of all, there was absolutely no way in the world I would’ve believed I would see him again almost every day for the next ten months. But I have.
His presence in my life feels, in lots of ways, like I’m stuck in limbo. Moving on in any real way with Dom is unrealistic. I shouldn’t even want it. But I do and I don’t know where that puts me. Or him. Or us.
“Nate is moving in with me.”
“Why?” I ask, caught off guard.
“He’s behind on a bunch of payments and managed to get a loan, but it’ll be a couple of months before it’s processed or something. He and Ryder are going to shack up here until he gets things sorted.”
“That’s nice of you,” I offer.
“Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do? It’s family, right?”
“Of course. My family would do the same.”
“Your family would just buy the other person a house,” he laughs. “I bet two of you haven’t lived together since you were kids.”
“Not true,” I say, taking a bite of my froyo. “Sienna and I lived together until she moved to LA.”
He laughs again. “And she managed to stay away from you for how long?”
“She was there for four years, actually. She still kind of lives there. I think,” I consider, spooning in another glob of yogurt.
“She’s been in Savannah the whole time I’ve known you. She doesn’t live in LA, sweetheart.”
“She still has an apartment there,” I counter.
“Sienna lives in LA as much as I do, and I’ve never even been there.”
Giggling at his analogy, I lick the spoon. “Yeah, that’s probably true. She’s thinking of moving to Illinois now anyway.”
“Must be nice.”
Jamming my spoon back in the carton, I sit back in my chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”