Oleg
Story puts her clothes from last night back on and pulls one of my button-downs out of the closet to wear over her tiny t-shirt. “Is it okay if I wear this?”
I nod, absurdly pleased to see my clothes on her body. She leaves it hanging open, like a long jacket.
“So if that’s your closet, what’s this?” She pulls open the door to the rest of the penthouse.
From the living room, the sounds of voices and baby Benjamin fussing like he’s about to fall asleep reach us.
Story’s mouth falls open in an exaggerated “O”.
“Who’s down there?” she says in an exaggerated stage whisper. She stage-tiptoes like she’s in a Scooby Doo episode.
I hesitate. Selfish me wants to keep Story to myself. Plus, I haven’t told the guys about what happened last night. And I should have. Ravil will have my ball
