MY BRAIN ISN’T WORKING.
That’s the only explanation for why I’m just standing here, staring at an almost-naked Pippa in a tiny towel. Her wet hair cascades around her shoulders, and above the towel she clutches to her chest, my gaze snags on her cleavage. Freckles dot across her collarbone, just like on her face.
She was singing in the shower, and it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I couldn’t move.
Something rushes in my blood—arousal. Attraction. Sparks skitter down my spine as I take in her legs. Her skin looks so soft.
Whether I want to be or not, I’m still so attracted to this girl.
Her face is going bright red. Her toenails are painted mint green. Why is that so fucking cute? I stare at her bottom lip. Was it always so plush like that? Blood hurries to my cock, and I turn around.
“What are you doing?” I demand. It comes out harsher than I mean.
“Daisy got mud all over me, and I didn’t realize you’d be home so early—”
“It’s fine.” She wasn’t supposed to be here when I got home. This can only work if I never see her.
Who the fuck am I fooling? It isn’t working. I’ve been thinking about her for two weeks, wondering what she and Daisy were doing. She’s been sending me daily emails with updates, and even though I never respond, I look forward to them. I wait for them, refreshing my email while I’m sitting on a plane or between training sessions.
I thought if I didn’t see her, she couldn’t distract me. I was so wrong. I make a frustrated noise in my throat and head to the door.
“I can be out of here right away,” she calls after me.
“I’ll be back at four.” That’s the time I was scheduled to be home, but one of my trainers had to reschedule. I yank my boots on and don’t look back.
In the elevator, I close my eyes and blow out a long breath in a pathetic attempt to center myself. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and when I pull it out, I see a photo of me and my mom flashing across the screen with her incoming call.
It’s the reminder I need. I can barely handle hockey plus taking care of my mom, let alone losing my head over some girl. It’s not worth it.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer.
