Overruled(93)

I nod. “Thank you, ma’am.”

? ? ?

I step softly through the open doorway. Her back is to me as she stares at fresh paint on the wall. I take the opportunity to soak her in, like a plant that hasn’t seen the sun in a year. Her hair is pulled up, tiny wisps brushing the sweet-tasting skin below her ear. I take in her delicate shoulders under a red T-shirt, black yoga pants, the elegant curve of her spine that leads down to the luscious swell of her ass—also sweet tasting.

“What do you think, Mam?e?” she asks without turning, her head tilted. “I’m not sure about the yellow; it’s duller than it looked on the swatch.”

“I think it looks like dried dog piss, if you want the truth.”

She whips around, eyes wide like she’s seeing a ghost. “Stanton!” After a moment, she blinks, trying to rein in her surprise. To act casual. “When did you get home?”

But casual can kiss my ass.

“I haven’t been home. I dropped Brent off and came straight here. To you.” Now I eat up the view from the front—those lips, her amazing breasts that I want to rest my head on, the green speckles in her eyes, like precious gems.

I lift my chin toward the paint cans. “What’s that about?”

She looks between me and the cans, nervously. “Redecorating—it felt like I needed a new start.”

I move forward, needing to be closer. And I’ve held back about as much as I’m capable of. “Christ I’ve missed you, Soph. The last two days have felt like forever.”

Her gaze drops to the floor. “I’m sorry I left like I did, but I needed to—”

“No.” I stalk the rest of the way across the room. “You had your chance to talk. You rested your case—now it’s my turn.” I kick a folding chair toward her, and there’s a definite warning in my voice. “So sit down and listen up.”

Her eyes widen, and for a second I think she’s going to argue. But then she does as she’s told.

I stand in front of her. “It started at the softball game, with Amsterdam staring at your ass.”

“Stanton, I told you—”

“Quiet,” I snap, pressing a finger against her now-closed lips. “When I wanted to rip his eyeballs out for lookin’ at your ass, that was the first time it felt like . . . more. It wasn’t my place to tell him not to look at you—but I wanted it to be.”

I push a hand through my hair, trying to explain so she’ll understand. “That’s the real reason why I asked you to come with me—even though I didn’t see it at the time. Because I didn’t want to be away from you—didn’t want to risk losin’ you to someone else. And when I saw you there, in my home—with the people who mean the most to me . . . it got more intense. Wantin’ you, needin’ you, feelin’ so f*ckin’ grateful to have you. But it was all screwed up—mixed up with Jenny gettin’ married, feelin’ like I needed to do somethin’ to keep from losin’ her.”

She’s leaning forward, hanging on every word, her eyes breaking my heart—filled with hope and fear. “When I got it sorted out in my head, when I finally had the balls to admit to myself how much you meant to me . . . it was already too late. I didn’t know if there was a chance you felt the same way. I didn’t know how to tell you without it lookin’ like you were just the rebound. And I never wanted you to feel that way—not for a minute.

“Jenny will always be my friend, the mother of the little girl who owns my heart, the first girl I loved.” Then my voice goes scratchy, strangled with emotion. “But you, Sofia . . . I swear, if you let me . . . you will be the last.”

There are tears in her beautiful eyes, rolling down her cheeks. I crouch down in front of her, running my hand over her shoulder, holding the back of her neck. “And I’m so f*ckin’ pissed off at you. I want to sit down on that bed, strip you down, and spank your ass till it’s as red as that wall downstairs.”

She hiccups. “P . . . pissed at me? Why?”

“Because you let me hurt you. You never said anythin’. When I think about how it must’ve been for you . . . like a thousand paper cuts.”

I hold her face, brush her tears away with my thumb, because I can’t not touch her a second longer.

She blinks up at me, swallowing a breath. “That was one hell of a closing argument, Stanton.”