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His face got soft before he set his phone on the nightstand.
He came back and started to reach for me.
“No,” I said. “We’ll disturb Patches. He’s asleep.”
“Patches is cute, but he eats off the floor and buries his own shit. I don’t think he’ll mind finding somewhere else to sleep.”
“You’re not a very good cat sitter,” I informed him.
He grabbed hold, hauled me to him, then rolled us both.
Patches took off.
Chest to chest, Cap looked down at me.
“I don’t care,” he replied.
Then he kissed me.
And I didn’t care either.
TWENTY
COMPOST
Iwoke with a jerk.
Cap was sleeping on his stomach.
I was tucked up to his side with an arm along the small of his back and a leg thrown over his thigh.
Yeesh, we were serious cuddlers.
This was why he felt me wake up.
He shifted and I rolled to my back. He slid his arm along my belly and semi-tucked me under his long body.
“Nightmare?” he murmured, sounding sexy-sleepy.
Sergio sitting beside me in Tweety, segueing to all the strippers at The Slide having Cyrus Gibbons’ face, segueing to Christina Markovic swinging on the swings at the playground where Macy was taken from.
I’d say I’d had a nightmare.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I could tell he was trying to shake the sleep so he could be there for me.
But hot guys needed their rest too.
And dreams were just your brain’s way of processing your life.
No big whoop.
(I hoped.)
“I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
