Beneath the Surface (Sugarlake, #4)

by Emily McIntire

“You sleep on the couch?” “It’s not so bad.” She shrugs. I’m not sure why I’m surprised, I know her financial situation, and I’ve seen people live in much worse conditions. But the act of her giving up the room just feels so… selfless. I hope one day her kid looks back and realizes he chose a good mom when he came into this world. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps. “Like what?” My brows raise. Her hands go to her hips and I bite back a smile. She’s so feisty. All five foot two of her. “Like you don’t approve of our living situation.” “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” My grin widens. “Let me tell you something, this—” She waves her arms around the room. “I know this doesn’t seem like much. But this is incredible for me.” She takes a step closer with each word, until she’s standing so close I can feel the heat sparking off her body. Her neck cranes so she can see my face. “I’ve slept on frozen street corners, and I’ve lived on filthy floors. So you don’t get to come in here and judge us. Judge me.” My heart dives into my stomach, sinking like a rock. Is that what she thinks? Reaching out my hand, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, grazing her jaw with my fingers. “Believe me little bird, the last thing I’ll ever do is judge you.” My eyes track down her body, her chest heaving under her oversized Nirvana shirt. “I think you’re fucking incredible.”