Finding Him (Covet 2)

“When you try your entire life to be perfect . . .” I sighed and then turned around to offer whatever assistance she needed and was suddenly grateful I wasn’t holding another plate. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Her glare said it all as she held a piece of fabric against her breasts. “I can’t get . . . something on, before the shirt.”

“You got your pants on.”

“They’re leggings! Hardly rocket science.”

“And a T-shirt is?” I refused to look down, stared straight into her pretty eyes. “Why does it feel like you’re testing me?”

“Doubt you’d pass even if I were.” Her cheeks pinked a bit before she exhaled, causing her lips to make a funny annoyed sound. “Look, I’m not going to walk around here without a bra on, it’s freezing and . . .”

I grinned wide. “And?”

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.” I crossed my arms. “So I’m told on a daily basis.”

“Lucky you,” she said sarcastically. “Pancake truce, you promised. I just need you to close your eyes really tight and help me get my sports bra over my head and down . . . just . . . down. My hands hurt, and they’re all wrapped up and swollen, and I tried at least a dozen times before I came out here, don’t make me beg.”

My body jerked in response as I lazily drank in her irritation, and the way it was directed at me. Was I actually enjoying her anger?

Maybe it was because she wasn’t scared of me.

Maybe it was because she was genuine and insulting, and women typically didn’t treat me that way.

Maybe it was because I enjoyed her scowl almost as much as I enjoyed her smile.

Even Isobel used to paste a fake smile on her face around me.

Not Keaton.

No, Keaton just kept her claws out, never sheathed them, and found great joy in threatening me.

“I’ll help,” I found myself saying. “No begging necessary.”

She exhaled like she was relieved. “Thanks, here.”

I frowned as she handed me a black polka-dotted sports bra that had seen better days. “What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” Her voice wobbled in disbelief. “It’s my bra!”

“It has a hole!” I pointed with my finger. “You could buy a billion sports bras and you wear this?”

“It’s comfortable.”

“So is being naked, but you don’t see me walking around with my cock hanging out.”

“Awww.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Got a bit of a problem, Tennyson?”

“Are you insinuating that I have a limp dick?”

“Hey, I’m just here for moral support. If you need to talk, by all means, talk, just do it while helping me get dressed. Then again, it’s good to know I’m not in danger of arousing any excitement out of you . . .”

“Too late for that,” I said before thinking.

Her mouth shut tight.

I cursed myself to hell. “Turn around so I’m not tempted.”

She did a slow circle and dropped her hands to her side. One had the shirt balled in it, the other was empty.

I stared at the bra in my hands.

And then burst out laughing.

“I swear I’m grabbing that knife if you’re still making fun of my old ratty bra!”

“No.” When was the last time I actually laughed like that? “It’s not the bra . . . well, I mean it is, but it’s a sports bra. My brain misfired looking for hooks, and then I realized that I’d never in all my life taken a sports bra off someone or put it back on . . . I, uh, got confused.”

“It’s not a complicated math problem. Just put it over my head.”

“Which side does the hole go on?”

“You’re the annoying twin, aren’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes at the back of her head. “Actually, I’m the charming one.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Hmm, can’t see it.”

“Don’t force a demonstration you’ll enjoy too much.” I winked.

Her lips parted on a gasp as she turned back around and stiffened. “So, let’s talk about your ED. When was the first time—”

I jerked her against me, my lips near her ear, barely a whisper away from the skin on her neck. “You don’t get to talk about my dick like it doesn’t exist. It would be like talking about this.” I placed my right hand on her hip and moved it up her skin, my fingers dancing along her ribs until they rested right below her breasts. “And not telling you how very beautiful I find it, not just your skin, but the way it flushes when you get angry or aroused, not that I would know, since you’ve already rendered me sexless . . .” Her skin broke out in goose bumps. “Now, stand still so I can help you.”

She nodded, swaying back against me.

And I wished things were different.

That she wasn’t mourning a man I would never compare to or even try to compete with.