Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(48)

When I went back inside, Tria was done in the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping her separated hair into braids.

“Hey, I was thinking,” I said as I scratched at the back of my head and looked off to the side of her. “Maybe it would be better if I was on the other side of the bed. I do think I prefer it.”

“Sure,” Tria responded. She used a little black twisty band to hold the end of her hair in the braid and tossed it over her shoulder.

She got in on the side closer to the window, and I got in closer to the door. The whole side of the bed still smelled like her, and I was already pretty sure it was going to work out just fine. That is, until Tria asked for her pillow back, and I reluctantly handed it over and accepted my own in exchange.

It still smelled like her a bit but not as much.

Rolling to my side, I faced the door and tried to hold on to the edge of the blanket as tightly as I could. I could feel Tria right behind me, situating herself into a comfortable position and tugging slightly at the blanket as she did so, but my grip did not falter. She let out a long sigh and went still.

For the longest time, I just lay there with my eyes open, watching the partially closed door to the bedroom and wondering what the f*ck I was doing.

Only a few hours after I finally dozed off, I woke up warm, content, and surrounded by that heavenly scent. I knew exactly where I was and what I was doing and didn’t even to pretend to think I was dreaming.

The length of my body was lined up flush with hers, and my arm was wrapped around her waist. My fingers curled over the swell at her hip, and my thumb had found its way inside the hem of her shirt and pressed lightly into her warm skin there.

I opened my eyes, and her face was so peaceful and serene, it took my breath away. Her head was tilted slightly toward me so that her forehead was pressed into my shoulder. I had again managed to get my arm underneath her to complete the embrace and make it really damn hard to move away.

I didn’t want to anyway.

For some time, I just watched her. For the most part, she was still as she lay in my arms, but sometimes her fingers would twitch a little or her eyes would move under her lids. I watched her chest rise and fall and tried not to think about how easy it would be to spread my fingers and reach up to touch her breast.

To keep myself from even considering it anymore, I pulled my hand from her side and used it to brush off of her forehead a stray piece of hair that had escaped from the braid. With a quiet sigh, I dug my arm out from under her and rolled back to my own, cold side of the bed.

An hour later, I did the whole thing again.

*****

We fell into a routine. Tria had classes through the week and spent her evenings studying. Every morning she made breakfast though she made lighter fare than she had the first day. She told me she’d make pancakes on Sundays since I should have a couple of days to recover from all those carbs and syrup. I’d run daily, work out with Yolanda every other day, and fight Tuesdays and Fridays.

Tria didn’t come back to the bar to watch me fight again, but she was also claiming it was just because she had to study for midterms. I wasn’t surprised that she came up with the excuse, but I had hoped she might at least give it another try. Yolanda asked me about it, and I offered to take her into the cage to put an end to her questioning.

She glared but left me alone.

I was taking my morning run and swinging around the single tree Tria still hadn’t seen in a sea of concrete when I noticed a guy hauling a bunch of shit out of one of the buildings and tossing it up into one of those large industrial dumpsters. The contents of the large cart he was pushing caught my eye.

“Hey, dude!” I called out as I altered my course and jogged easily over to him. He had graying dark hair and kept coughing into his hand.

“Damn dust,” he muttered as I approached. “They don’t pay me enough for all this dust. Probably asbestos in there, too.”

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward one of the abandoned warehouses.

“You just throwing this out?” I asked him.

“Cleaning out the old ball bearings place,” he said. He looked me up and down and took a step back, appearing tense. “There isn’t much left in there, and they said just to haul out whatever was there. I ain’t stealing anything.”

“I just wondered if you were going to pitch the wood,” I said. “If you are, I was going to take it.”

His shoulders relaxed a little.

“It’s just going in the dumpsters,” he said. “Once it’s in there, it’s fair game, I guess.”

A few minutes later, I had several pieces of plywood and a two-foot section of a two-by-four over my shoulders. I didn’t head directly back to the apartment but took the alleyway over to Feet First instead.

It was way too early for the bar to be open, but I pounded on the back entrance until Stacy opened the door.

“Liam!” she scolded. “What are you doing out here?”

“Do you have a hammer and some nails around someplace?” I asked. “I want to build something.”

She looked at me skeptically, shook her head slowly, and opened the door wide.

“There’s a toolbox in the kitchen,” she told me, “but you can’t take all of that in there—there is no room for it. Take it to the locker room, and I’ll bring the box.”

I offered to go get the box myself, but she waved me off and muttered something about not being all that old. I shifted my load from one shoulder to the other and then hauled it all downstairs. I lay the pieces down on the cement floor and looked them over.