Page 14 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
She gasps softly, like I’ve deeply offended her.
“You’re dramatic.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“I just don’t want to sit here while you do everything for me.”
Something about that hits me square in the chest. Like she genuinely isn’t used to someone taking care of her.
My grip on her hips tightens slightly before I force myself to let go.
“You can survive one night on the couch while I unpack your bags.”
She crosses her arms. “No. I need to unpack?—"
“I’ll tie you to the sectional.”
She falls silent. Then her cheeks turn pink.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t enjoy that reaction as much as I do.
I think I’m in trouble.
And I’m not quite sure how to get out of it.
5
PEYTON
I watch him move around the kitchen, muttering curses under his breath.
Cabinet doors open, close, then open again. Then comes another irritated sound.
My lips twitch. “Oh my God,” I say slowly. “You don’t have food.”
Daltyn freezes with the refrigerator door open, blue eyes narrowing at me from across the kitchen. “I have food.”
“You have ketchup, coffee creamer, and approximately seventeen bottles of water.”
His jaw tightens. I grin wider.
The kitchen somehow manages to look exactly like him. Clean. Expensive. Controlled. Matte black finishes. Dark cabinets. Warm pendant lighting hanging over the giant island in the middle. Everything looks untouched.
Apparently, this man survives exclusively on protein, caffeine, and rage.
“You were gone all summer,” I continue. “Now you’re back but distracted by my busted ankle, so you forgot to grocery shop.”
“Thanks for the replay. But I’m not distracted.”
I stare at him. “What were you doing outside?”
“Getting the luggage.”
“With your phone. I saw you on it.”
He looks up at me, a slow smile crossing his face. The sight does far more to me than it should.
