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When he stood there and stared at me in confusion, I gestured to his hand. He looked down and noticed the blood. The exasperated sound that left his chest was worth how much it hurt when my laughter finally escaped me.
“Yeah. Fucking cold shower.” He muttered the words as he turned, and then spun around and pointed his finger at me. “Rest.”
He sounded so serious, and I’d never heard anyone care like that.
“Okay. I’ll rest.”
Clay nodded, and then paused. His lips pulled up in the faintest of smiles, and it was the realest expression I’d seen from him.
“Jayce?”
I settled back into the bed and let myself be surrounded by the scent of him. Now that we weren’t kissing and my body was trying to focus on the pain of my injury, sleeping sounded pretty good.
“Yeah?”
He bit his lower lip, that smile still on his face.
“Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 11
Clay
By the time I finished showering and made something to eat, Jayce was asleep. The sight of him stretched out across my bed, taking up most of the space, made something in my stomach clench.
He’d kissed me.
I should have felt a small victory — I’d finally succeeded in moving things forward. He’d kissed me, and I had no doubt in my mind I’d be able to get him to do more if I wanted — but when his lips pressed against mine, I hadn’t been thinking about my mission at all.
I hadn’t been thinking about anything but the way he tasted on my tongue, the way his fingers tugged at my hair.
That’s how you look sometimes when I dream of you.
Who said that to a person? Who confessed they dreamed of them on a regular basis, like that was a normal thing?
Probably someone who’d suffered the shock of being shot, having to drive a few miles, and blood loss.
He’d gotten shot because of me.
For me.
And I’d…
Fuck, I’d killed for him.
And he dreamed of me.
My brain was a cacophony of thoughts that I couldn’t get under control, with one tickling in the back of my head and rising to the surface.
He dreamed of me… but I didn’t dream of him, at least, not that I remembered. I couldn’t remember my dreams — it was like sleep was a blank, dark place. But I remembered when I was younger… much younger.
When my foster parents took me to a doctor because of my apathy, and he’d asked me to try something, some experimental drug they'd bought off a sleep study company.
How could I have forgotten? I pushed quietly into my spare room and looked around. It was ridiculous that I’d kept anything from that time period. They’d had me on some pill while I was a teenager that was supposed to help you remember things. I took them for years until I finally decided enough was enough and I stopped.
That might have been why I’d forgotten.
It might have been why I’d been drawn to him from the beginning.
