Brett put my phone on the stool but did this with his eyes moving over me in my sleep set that was shorts and a short-sleeved pajama shirt that was pink with big, bright blue and green flowers on it. I was curled up, heels to the seat, knees to my chest.

But still, there was a lot of me to be seen.

And as he did this, he said, “I get the gist.”

Oh no.

“Brett,” I whispered.

His eyes came to mine. “It’s okay, baby, ’cause, see, the thing is, you give a shit about someone, you take what you can get.”

Oh man.

Maybe it was me who shouldn’t be out on the deck in my jammies.

Maybe I should find a turtleneck and some jeans.

Bulky ones.

“You’re incredibly sweet,” I said softly.

“Right, the other thing is, I’m not,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m really not, Hattie. But that’s what you’ll get from me. And sweet is all you’ll ever get from me. But the reason I don’t blow through Pantera and take what I want from you is because you don’t need that in your life. So you get the sweet. And only that. But you do knowing that there’s more. And the rest, well,” he lifted his broad (bare!) shoulders, “I’ll find a woman who can deal.”

“I’m sure she’s out there,” I informed him.

“I need to find a Daisy. Or better, an Anya,” he muttered. “I’m seein’ I like the quiet ones, not the ballsy ones.”

“Pardon?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothin’.” He then pushed out of his chair. “Gonna get a refill. Check the cupboards. See what you got. Makin’ you breakfast then I got shit to do.”

He was making me breakfast.

Yesterday, he had one of his henchmen bring doughnuts.

I was always in for a doughnut.

I was more in for someone (not me) making breakfast.

I seriously had to scan my friend memory banks (which weren’t all that hearty, sadly) and see if I knew someone who could “deal” who might make Brett happy.

I didn’t share these thoughts with him.

I nodded.

He held out his hand.

I gave him my cup for a refill.

Yup.

He was sweet.

He went inside and I watched the muscles of his back (and, okay, the movement of his ass) when he did.

He was bigger than Axl, not taller, and I’d regrettably never seen Axl bare-chested.

But I’d imagined it.

Repeatedly.

And other things bared.

Those repeatedly too.

On these thoughts, I let out a heavy sigh and looked out the slats so I wouldn’t grab my phone again and torture myself with the various ways I’d screwed up with Axl.

And it seemed I was really good at this, considering as I did it, I conjured up the image of Axl walking along the sidewalk in front of my house.

Though, the truth of it was, Axl was walking along the sidewalk in front of my house.

I sat up straight in my chair.

My movement must have caught his attention because he stopped, and his eyes caught mine through the slats.

Oh boy.

He shifted direction. No longer heading to the front walk, he was striding up the grass to the gate of my deck.

And then I lost sight of him because he was at the gate to my deck.

Oh boy!

I took my feet off the chair, put them to the rug and stood.

The deck door opened and Axl was there.

And man, he made navy cargos and a gray tee look like everything.

No offense to Brett, but better than Brett in practically nothing.

Crap!

I was so in trouble.

“Uh—” I started, panicked.

No.

Frantic.

Because he was there, and I really could not take him being mean to me again, even if I deserved it.

And …

Brett was there because I had a situation that might be nothing, but it also might be something, and I hadn’t thought Axl would ever find out I had this situation.

But now he was there, and Brett was there, and to explain why Brett was there, I’d have to explain said situation.

However, as what was becoming usual with Axl, that “uh” was all I got out before he lifted a hand, palm out my way.

“No. I gotta start. Because I fucked up. I was a dick. Totally uncool.”

What he said made me completely forget I had anything to say.

He dropped his hand and kept talking.

“I was pissed, and I’ve been frustrated for a while you won’t let me get to you and that came out. No excuses. I should have locked it down, sorted through it before I came to you. But I didn’t. And I apologize. Seriously, Hattie. What I did was fucked and I wished I didn’t do it. But I did. And there’s nothin’ left but for me to say I’m sorry.”

Ohmigod.

That was so nice!

“I—”

I again got no more out.

“You’re beautiful.”

I blinked and my belly felt funny.

Um …

I was?

I mean, I knew I wasn’t hard to look at.

But … beautiful?

“And you danced that dance for me,” he continued. “It messed with my head. It was … ” He shook his head. “I’d never seen anything like that. Felt anything like it. No one had ever given me anything as gorgeous as that. It was too much. Too big. And the only person I could work that out with was you, and you cut off every avenue to you, and I needed to process what I was feeling. I couldn’t hang on to it anymore.”

“Axl—”

Yup, again, that was all he let me say.

Though, I was glad whatever I was going to say didn’t stop him from saying what he said next.

And the way he said it.

Low and tortured and thick and amazing.

“Christ, baby, I can’t get it out of my head. I go to sleep, thinking about you dancing. I wake up, and the first thing I see before I open my eyes is you looking at me after that dance. I—”

Okay.

Done.

I moved the five steps to him, put my hand to his chest and whispered, “Shut up.”

He stared down at me, unmoving.

I stared up at him, the same.

The air around us grew heavy.

And he was so gorgeous, saying such incredible things, not to mention right there, and I was touching him, I couldn’t stop my lips from saying, “Shut up, shut up.”

The words that came after that lingered in the air unsaid, but they were there.