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I flipped him off and he laughed like my middle finger was the funniest fucking thing he’d seen all day. I didn’t know how or why we’d veered into this line of teasing, but I hated it with every fiber of my being.
* * *
I barely slept.
Adrien didn’t snore, he didn’t toss or turn or talk in his sleep. He was mostly silent and still, his breathing quiet and even. But it was a mental thing. Just knowing that he was sleeping in the same room made me feel… restless.
Plus, I’d been weirdly agitated since dinner last night, though I couldn’t quite figure out why.
When his silent alarm went off at 4:30, I was wide awake, staring up at the dark ceiling.
I sat up. “Are you going for your run?”
He lurched back and almost tripped. “Jesus fucking Christ. I thought you were sleeping.”
“Nope.”
“You look like the girl fromThe Ringwith your hair down like that. Scared the shit out of me.”
“That might be the rudest fucking thing anyone’s ever said to me this early in the morning.”
“You sound like her too,” he grumbled.
“That’s the second rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me this early in the morning.”
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m going for a run. Sorry, I didn’t think my alarm would wake you.”
It hadn’t. But before I could respond to him, my attention snagged on the massive bulge tenting his sweats, and my whole brain shut down.
“Take a picture, Sanchez. It’ll last longer.”
Fuck.I tore my eyes away and forced them back up to the ceiling, genuinely grateful that it was too dark in here for him to see the crimson creeping up my neck. I should have just pretended like I was asleep.
Adrien chuckled and mumbled something incoherent under his breath. Three seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut.
Well, that was… kind of humiliating.
I sat there for a few minutes with my heart hammering and my skin buzzing, until I decided that I was too wound up to sit still for another two hours. So, I pushed myself out of bed and gathered my hair into my usual ponytail. I hadn’t packed a sports bra, but at least I had the yoga pants (that I’d worn to bed, because drunk me apparently didn’t think pajamas were important).
“What are you doing?”
Adrien was already in his running gear when he stepped back into the bedroom—a long-sleeve running shirt and matching black trousers. It took active effort for my eyes to stay on his face and not flick down.
I placed my hands on my hips and shrugged. “I kind of feel like going on a run.”
“You’re wanting to join me on my run?”
My head tilted toward one shoulder. “Is that what I said?”
I could see the amusement begin to worm its way over his features. “Did you bring your mace with you?”
The question made me stop short, horror-stricken. But no. No, if I’d hidden it anywhere in my bag or suitcase, airport security would have probably arrested me or something. So it was probably at home.
I made a mental note to double-check anyway.
“What’s that look?” Adrien asked, eyeing me.
“Nothing. Let’s go.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the room. I didn’t have my running shoes with me, but my sneakers would do.
