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Waking up next to somebody else would be disorienting enough.
Waking up next to Ryker is worse.
There’s an arm underneath my neck, curled around my chest. A hand is resting on my hip. A wide, bare chest is pressed against my back, a thigh shoved between mine from behind. Soft, slow breaths ruffle my hair.
I’m precariously close to the edge of the bed, but at the same time there’s no real danger of me toppling over on account of me being pinned down by the massive lug of a hockey player behind me.
It’s hot and cramped, and I spend a good five minutes, at least, frowning at the wall and telling myself that I hate this. And another five hovering between being pissed off and freaked out.
I try to figure out how I even ended up staying here. I’m supposed to be in my home. In my own bed. Sleepovers are definitely not on the list of things I want to have. So how the hell did I end up here, then? He just… what? Fucked me into a coma?
Jesus Christ.
I have no idea what time it is. Early, probably, because it’s still dark outside. I’m sure there’s a phone somewhere I can check to see how much time I have before I need to get my ass in gear. I try to reach out and pat the floor blindly, hoping to get lucky and find a phone. Or at least free myself.
Ryker shifts in his sleep, mumbles something, and rolls himself almost all the way on top of me.
So now I’m lying on my stomach. Ryker’s thigh traps my lower body in place. His chest is covering half my body, and to top it off, he wraps his arm more firmly around me. I don’t have any movable limbs left.
I let out an annoyed breath and try very hard to hate this feeling.
Fuck being held.
Fuck not being able to remember the last time somebody actually hugged me.
I don’t need this.
He moves his arm upward a bit. His sports watch is right in front of my face, but the screen is dark, so I still can’t see the time.
I try to get my arm free.
Nope. Clearly not happening.
I try to sort of… peck the display with my nose to make it light up. No dice. I let out a growl of frustration, but he doesn’t move.
It’s like being strangled by a handsy octopus.
“Oh, for the love of fuck!” I snap.
He sleeps through the outburst.
Fuck’s sake!
I aim my elbow into his gut and shove as hard as I can. Harder than is strictly necessary because I’m a bit terrified about how much I don’t mind the big body wrapped around me.
He doesn’t move an inch.
He does snort into my ear, though. And his chest starts to vibrate behind me. My breath escapes on a whoosh.
“You’re awake,” I say.
“For quite some time now.” His morning voice is all gravelly. Too sexy for his own good. Too sexy for my good.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.
He moves himself off me, still laughing, and I roll onto my back after him. I stare at the ceiling for a second, then I grab his arm, pull the watch back in front of my face, and turn on the display.
“What does it say?” he asks through a yawn.
