Seal's Professor: A Military Roommate Romance by Piper Sullivan

Author:Piper Sullivan [Sullivan, Piper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PS
Published: 2017-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

May

I stand before the girl, my mouth hanging open like I’m some special kind of idiot. She stares up at me, her eyes lit with a fire I can’t even begin to describe. It’s like she knows who I am, why I’m here, and how to destroy me.

“Your dad wanted me to watch you,” I say, and she blinks, as if this answer is a total surprise. She tilts her head to the side and her thick, dark hair shifts, revealing a length down her back with some curls near the end, like her heavy hair can’t quite hold the curls but clings to the few it can near the bottom.

I watch her little face scrunch up as if she’s internally poking holes in my story. “Where’s Gertie?” she asks, and I find myself at a loss.

“I’m not sure,” I say, deciding honesty is the best idea. She continues to stare me down, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I don’t like Gertie. She always smacks my bottom when I’m not ladylike,” she says, her honesty melting my heart.

“That’s not very ladylike of her.”

Instantly the girl smiles and it feels like the sun is shining down on me. While I’m doing well, I decide to keep things rolling. “So, what do you usually do when you get home?” I ask, but she pushes toward me, thrusting her hand toward me.

“I’m Grace.”

I take her hand and shake it, surprised that her little fingers feel strong. “I’m May.”

“May flowers,” she giggles, and I smile at her sweet little face. She’s too stinkin’ cute. I want to pinch her chubby little pink cheek, but I’m not going to put hands on her. I know better. Besides, I remember how demoralizing that felt to have people touch me without my permission when I was little.

“Are you hungry, Grace?” I ask, and she nods. With quick hands, I find some foods that’ll go over well. Comfort food that I choose because she’s adjusting to something new; me. Mac and cheese and hot dogs. The kind of stuff I have fond memories of as a child.

“Want to help me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at her. Her little face lights up and I pull a chair into the kitchen for her to stand on. Shoulder to shoulder we stand before the stove, opening a box of Mac and Cheese, dumping noodles into a pot of water, busy work. Simple work. Things that’ll help her feel independent while she’s safe from harm.

Things I wish I could have had when I was little.

“Do you have kids?” She asks me, her little face full of curiosity.

“I don’t.” I say, my tone bright as I tackle the hard question. I wanted kids. But that bastard… I clamp down and shut out the painful memories. I’m not ready to face them. Besides, little Grace doesn’t need to see me lose it.

“Are you married?” she asks, and I can’t help but be in awe of her. She’s so very mature. She speaks like an adult.

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