Page 18 of Big Trouble

Fighting spiders in her underwear.

Looking at me like she sees something real. Past the money and football god reputation. Like she sees me.

There is only so much a man can fucking take.

I slam the drawer in my bathroom.

Enough.

I can’t allow this to continue.

I move to the stairs and climb them. I’ve been up here more often in the last month than I have in the last year. I refuse to examine why.

I knock, but there’s no answer. So I twist the knob and the door flies open.

Winnie sits on the bed, legs criss-crossed. She’s got a massage gun aimed over her shoulder, paused mid-use. Her eyes widen when she sees me standing in her doorway in nothing but my boxer briefs.

Then my brain slowly processes what I’m seeing. Past the thin tank top she’s wearing and her alarmed expression to the thing in her hand. A massage gun. Not a vibrator.

Kill. Me. Now.

“I… what are you doing?” she asks, blinking at me.

Instead of admitting my mistake and turning around to go back to my own room, I point at her. “The question is, what are you doing? Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing up here like no one else in the house can hear what’s happening?” I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the sizable problem in my boxers.

Because, of course, I got hard imagining her with her hand between her thighs.

Slowly, she lowers her arm and sets the massage gun on the bed. She licks her lips, then giggles. Then she laughs. No, that’s not quite accurate. She cackles. Head tossed back, laughing her ass off. At me. Because, of course, she’s smart enough to see right through my bravado.

Goddammit, if her laughter hasn’t made my erection even harder.

“Oh my God,” she wheezes. “You thought I was—” She swipes at her eyes, wiping away her mirthful tears. “Brody!” Her voice has lowered to a whisper. “You seriously thought I was masturbating with Clementine in the house?”

I straighten and do my best to glare at her. “What the hell else was I supposed to think? It sounded like you were running a vibrator on high for ten straight minutes.”

“I have back pain. You should try carrying around tits like these all day and see how your back feels.” Judging by her surprised expression, I’m guessing she hadn’t meant to say that, at least not to me.

But somehow my brain has interpreted her words as a legit invitation because I’ve stepped fully into her room and closed the door.

“You should’ve knocked instead of barging in here like a deranged bull.”

“I did knock,” I mumble.

Her face is still lit with humor and fuck me if she’s not gorgeous. She chuckles again. “You burst in here like the orgasm police.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Just so we’re clear, what you do on your own time is your own business. But Clementine could come up here and interrupt whatever that might be. I’d rather her not interrupt⁠—”

But my words died in my throat because Winnie stood from the bed. Now I could see the way the tank top clung to her chest, how her nipples were hard under the fabric. The tank fell to her mid-thighs so I couldn’t tell if she was wearing anything on her ass. A pretty flush covered the exposed skin of her chest, up her neck, and onto her cheeks. She looked so fucking alive in that moment.

It made me question everything. Why I really raced up here? My celibacy over the last seven years. Had I been squeezing the joy out of every day or just going from duty to duty? I know I love my daughter, I’d do anything for her. But had I truly been living a life with her?

I didn’t think so. I think I’ve just been going through the motions.

Winnie tilts her head, amusement morphing into something quieter. “You’re blushing.”

“The fuck I am.”

“You are.”