Trust in Me(127)

            Shortcake sat on the kitchen floor across from me, bare legs tucked under her. She wore one of my shirts and that was all. I had a hard time thinking about anything other than that.

            Between us, Michelangelo and Raphael were currently head-bobbing each other.

            “It’s like a tortoise version of smack talk,” she said, brows pinched. “I’m not sure they like each other.”

            I grinned as I leaned back against the fridge, running my hand over the bare skin of my abs. “They still need some time. And Mikey-Mike is territorial.”

            “Oh, blame it on my tortoise.” She rolled her eyes. “Yours started the head-bobbing crap first.”

            The timer dinged, and I climbed to my feet, heading over to the stove. “He was just showing yours who’s boss.”

            “Michelangelo is boss.” Shortcake picked up her little guy, setting him back several feet.

            Eyeing the chocolate cookies and finding them done, I quickly washed my hands, then retrieved an oven mitt I was sure Shortcake had never used. The tag was still on it. Grinning, I tore it off and then removed the tray from the oven. The cookies were super-sized, golden and oh-so gooey-looking.

            “Are they ready?” She looked up, eyes gleaming.

            “You’ll burn your tongue.” I tossed the mitt aside. “Again.”

            She grinned. “But it is so worth it.”

            “Uh-huh.” I sauntered up to her, enjoying the way her cheeks still flushed when her eyes dipped below my navel. Swooping down, I kissed her upturned lips. “Give them—”

            My cell went off from the living room. “Be right back.”

            She nodded as I carefully avoided stepping on a poor tortoise and traumatizing myself and Shortcake. I swiped my cell off the coffee table. A sigh of relief exited me as I saw that it was from my sister.

            Out of surgery. Doing ok. Will call u later.

            Closing my eyes, I said a little prayer. It hadn’t been a major surgery, but it was still a surgery and fucked-up things happened in hospitals. She was home. That was good, but . . .

            “Was that Teresa?”

            Putting my phone down, I turned. Avery stood in the door, holding two squirming tortoises. Combining that with the shirt that read I WANNA BE YOUR MANWICH, it was a pretty adorable sight.

            “Yes.”

            She walked the two tortoises over to their habitat and gently placed them inside. While she closed the lid, the two green guys immediately eyed each other from their respective corners. “Is she okay? How did the surgery go?”

            “She says she’s fine. It was just a text.” I paused. “She said she’d call me later.”

            Facing me, her brows were pinched in worry. If anyone knew what Teresa was facing right now, it would be Shortcake, with all her years of dancing. “She didn’t say anything about dancing?”

            I shook my head as I pressed my lips together. Teresa had torn her ACL a week ago during a recital. For athletes and dancers, it could be an injury fatal to their careers. All my sister had ever wanted to do was become a professional dancer. Only time would tell if that would be possible at all.

            But from what Mom had said, it wasn’t looking good.

            Shortcake disappeared into the kitchen, washed her hands and returned. Coming up to me, she wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek against my chest. Her skin was warm.

            “I’m sorry,” she said.