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Of course.

I drop my hands. The loss of contact is immediate; so is the warmth. I step back with a shiver.

“I’ll get it.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I know.” I turn before he can see my face or before I make an even bigger fool of myself. More stupid than reading a brother’s best friend hockey romance while waiting for my brother’s best friend to come home… from his hockey game.

Talk about life imitating art.

I wish.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BISHOP

Three days. I was gone for three fucking days.

Apparently, it wasn’t long enough to get my head on straight. If anything, quite the opposite.

I try not to think about Laney’s soft hands on me. I lean back against the couch and stare at the ceiling.

Her thumbs against my jaw. Her body between my knees. Those fucking shorts.

I drag a hand down my face, stopping before I get anywhere near my lip. Bad idea. All of it. And I know better.

That’s the worst part.

I reach up and tug at the knot of my tie, pulling it loose before yanking the whole damn thing over my head. My jacket follows, landing across the back of the sectional.

Movement catches my eye.

The cat.

He’s sitting on the other end of the couch, staring at my jacket.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

His eyes shift to me.

“I mean it.”

He jumps down.

“Demon.”

The little asshole walks straight toward me. I reach for my jacket before he can get his claws into it, but instead of jumping on the couch, he stops beside my leg.

Then bumps his head against my shin. I stare down at him.

“What the hell was that?”

He looks up at me. Then does it again. His face drags along my pant leg before he presses his head against my knee.

Huh.

Slowly, because I don’t trust him for shit, I reach down.