Drew's POV
It became almost second nature having dinner with her family during the past week. I'd wrap up whatever I had to do with the band, that couldn't wait and then dedicate time to her family, showing them around. We'd always have lunch somewhere new, but dinner always home.
The apartment is quiet in that full-belly, warm-light kind of way. Ian’s passed out on the rug with a crayon still in his fist and a rogue dinosaur sticker half-stuck to his cheek. Audrey’s moving around the room like she always does—graceful without trying, her hair falling over one shoulder as she leans down to scoop up a toy under the table.
And yeah, I’m watching her.
Hard.
I’m not even pretending not to. My eyes track every bend of her spine, every stretch of fabric, every casual sway of her hips like I’m hypnotized. She reaches for a dropped fork and her shirt rides up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above her waistband.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
And then—I feel it.