I Pucking Love You (The Copper Valley Thrusters #5) - Pippa Grant Page 0,47
have proof of life. Go away.”
“Breakfast?” Daisy says.
He sighs.
I glance at the clock.
The little boy babbles and pumps his legs, which makes every adult in the room smile at him.
“We’re next door,” Daisy announces. “Room service in thirty minutes. Be there or be hungry.”
No way. Nope. Not happening.
I’m not getting out-classed by Daisy Carter-Kincaid before ten AM.
For a second time, I mean. “I have to call my friend. She shouldn’t be alone this morning. So I should—”
“Bring her along, sweetie. There’ll be plenty. Any friend of Tyler’s friend is a friend of ours.”
“Daisy—” Tyler starts.
“Enough, peasant.” She smiles broadly at him, and I swear the entire room lights up with fireworks because she’s that brilliantly gorgeous. “Breakfast, or my feelings will be hurt.”
“Can’t have that,” Tyler’s brother says with a shit-eating grin. “Also, put pants on, or I’m sending pictures to the rest of the family.”
They leave as fast as they came in.
I should pick up the cookie tray again. Or at least try to. But instead, I gape at Tyler. “How—”
“Pointless question, Muffy. It’s Daisy. There’s always a how. And don’t ask why didn’t she just call either. Not her style when she has a private jet and wants to get somewhere.” He pauses on his way to the bathroom and looks me up and down, his gaze finally settling on mine. “You okay?”
Am I okay?
I confessed my worst secret to him last night after I took him to a funeral home where he passed out because of childhood trauma, and my best friend from college has to lay her father to rest today.
I’m probably not supposed to be okay, and my therapist would tell me that it’s okay to not be okay today. But I paste on a bright smile anyway. “I’m great.”
He studies me until I want to squirm. “Shower?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He wiggles his eyebrows, which makes my nipples tighten.
“Oh! Oh, no. I mean, not together. You go ahead.” Awesome. My panties are suddenly soaked too.
Why am I saying no?
Right.
Because he probably knows I have exactly zero experience with shower sex, and I really don’t want to be naked in front of him in the light right now.
I’d probably fart.
And I’ve caused enough trauma to the poor man already in the past twenty-four hours.
Not even.
He sighs, shakes his head, grabs his bag, and disappears into the bathroom. “Not like there won’t be enough food next door whenever we get there,” he mutters.
“Wait. We’re doing that? We’re having breakfast with your family?”
“If my options are a breakfast buffet in this hotel or whatever Daisy’s having catered to her room next door, I’m having breakfast with my family. You’re welcome to come along. Or you can stay here. Or call Veda. Have her join us. West and Daisy won’t mind. Or do something completely different. Whatever. But I’m going to shower, and you can join me if you want to make it fast, or you can wait your turn and risk missing out on all the bacon. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
And now I’m confused.
Is he offering to take a shower with me and have sex, or to shower quickly together to save time?
Does he like me?
Does he not like me?
Did we have a moment last night?
Did I dream the whole thing?
Is he in denial because there were feelings involved?
Am I in denial because there are feelings involved?
Why are men so complicated?
Or was he actually serious when he told me I broke his penis?
And speaking of dicks, I think I’m actually done being embarrassed about what happened when I left med school.
I think I’m pissed.
And I don’t know why, but I have a feeling it has to do with one very sexy man currently getting naked on the other side of that bathroom door.
Did Tyler Jaeger, clean-eating athlete supremo with buns of steel and arms of wonder, actually lecture me last night about how I’m perfect exactly the way I am?
And that anyone who would shame me for it should go to hell?
I think he did.
But you know what’s crazy?
I think I believe him.
I shouldn’t be ashamed of my body. I shouldn’t be ashamed of doing what I felt I needed to do to pay down some student loans. And I shouldn’t be ashamed that my married professor bid on me.
He was wrong.
I can’t control what he did.
But I can control what I do. And how I talk to myself. And how I let myself feel.