Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“What is wrong with you,” I huff, trying to scurry off the bed, but he has my ankle before I can get close, dragging me back.
“You’re not sleepin’ on the floor.”
"I am sleeping on the floor," I say, twisting, but he’s already tossing a second pillow to the head of the bed.
“Floor’s covered in jizz, you want to get pregnant? Be my guest,” he says, shrugging. There’s a tiny scar across his shoulder, white against his tan skin, and my eyes lock onto it like it’s easier to catalog every inch of him than admit I’m not equipped for this argument right now.
“You are disgusting!” I snap.
There is no way I’m laying in his jizz, though. I clamber as far left as possible and fluff my pillow. The mattress is weirdly soft, not that I’m letting him know. Knox towels his hair off, then stands there, face unreadable.
I stare. “You plan to stand there all night like a weirdo?”
He grins, wolfish, and drops the towel, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be completely naked in front of me. My jaw drops open, and a weird sound comes out, one that I am immediately horrified by.
“Can you not...,” I gesture, helpless, “flop your junk out?”
He ignores me, crawls onto the other side of the bed, and yanks the blanket up to his waist.
“I am not sleeping next to you naked,” I say, louder than I mean to. “No offense, but I don’t trust you not to wake me up with something... in me.”
He lets out a full-body snort, like I’m the funniest thing he’s seen in months. "Don’t flatter yourself, sunshine. Fucked a sweetbutt three times already today. I got nothing left for you.”
That’s supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t. It does, however, shut me right up. There’s a weird twist in my chest at the idea of him with someone else, a twist I don’t like. I quickly push it aside, refusing to spend a second trying to figure it out.
He puts his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. “Go to sleep.”
I bite my lip.
The storm rages against the window, and for a while, I just watch his shoulders rise and fall, studying how he doesn’t tense when I shift the mattress, how he sleeps like he’s not scared of anything in the world.
I lay down, stiffer than a corpse, back to him and eyes trained on the walls. I am not thinking about what would happen if I let myself touch him, just for a second, just to see what it would feel like to run a finger along that scar. Nope. Definitely not thinking about that.
The last thing I remember is the feel of the sheets, warm and soft against my skin, and the slow, even sound of Knox breathing.
I drift under, for once, without a single dream.
IT’S BLISSFULLY SILENT when I wake.
Morning has not yet come, and the hot, hard body beside me is a comfort I am scared to admit I like. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and glance at my phone. It’s three a.m. I turn it in the direction of Knox, to see him sleeping so soundly, his back to me, his big shoulders rising and falling with every breath.
My chest clenches.
I’m afraid of the things swirling around in my body when I look at this man.
I need to snap out of it.
Climbing out of bed, I move towards the bathroom where I use it quickly and then stare at myself in the mirror. Hot mess indeed. My hair is a mess, falling around my shoulders and in need of a little more love than I have been giving it. My eyes are tired, and I know I should go back to sleep.
Moving back out, I pause at the photo of Knox and Harper on the dresser. Picking it up, a mix of things washes through me. Jealousy, grief, sadness, and a mix of things I don’t understand. Harper was so easy to love, and I can see he loved her so much.
Will anyone ever love me that much?
“Her birthday.”
Knox’s groggy voice has me spinning around. He’s sitting, staring at me with that gorgeous half-sleepy expression that makes me want to pounce on him and kiss him with everything I am. I shake that thought away before I so much as let it sink in.
“I remember,” I say, looking back down at the photo. “She texted me that night, she was so drunk from doing jelly shots and was making you so crazy you locked her in the room and she tried to escape.”
I can’t help but smile.
“Fuckin’ tried to climb out the window and fell flat on her face, busted her nose.”
I laugh softly. “She was crazy like that, but it’s what I loved most about her.”