“Or right,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving, his attention rising from my feet to my face.
“I’m not following you.”
He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbed his hand down his cheek and around his chin, the stubble making a rasping sound against his palm.
“Travis?” I said, closing the notebook and hoping that would send a signal that whatever he wanted to tell me would be off the record. Was he still suffering when he was training? Had he not healed properly? If so, that was something we needed to take very seriously.
He stared at me, almost as if he was angry that I’d made him think of something, then stood, walked to the window and surveyed L.A.
I couldn’t help but ogle his cute behind. I knew what his arse looked like naked but bloody hell, he could fill out a pair
