Even with the extra run to the feed store, I still make it back to the apartment before Parker and the twins. At first, I’m confused and then I check the calendar Parker created and pinned to our refrigerator and realize Bridget had math tutoring today.
They’ll be starving by the time they get back, I think, opening our pantry and glancing over the contents. My brain tries to concentrate on making dinner, but my body can only think about how close I’d been to Parker in here, how I could’ve taken her against the shelves.
For a heartbeat, I’m convinced I can hear her breathing: fast, shallow, needy.
“Christ’s sake, man,” I mutter, swiping two tins of tomato puree from their bin. Clearly this whole keeping my distance from her isn’t working. Do I have time for a cold shower? I wonder and t
