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He sighs, but it sounds like a laugh. “You asked me to spoon you.”
“Why?”
He chuckles. “I don’t know.”
“And you eagerly jumped in?” It’s so Easton to try to make a move after an event like that.
“No. I walked away, then you begged me to come back. You said you didn’t want to be alone and, I quote, ‘could use a good spooning.’”
I slump. It does sound like something I might say. And I’ve been lonely lately, going to bed alone while Dash works late or hangs out with the guys at their favorite sports bar.
“Most woman enjoy my spooning,” Easton says. “I’m going to chalk your disappointment up to the circumstances.”
“What time is it?” I grab my phone from the nightstand, vaguely noting that he plugged it into my charger and placed it where I like it. 6 a.m.
I set it down. Easton has his phone, checking the time, too. “Can we continue this conversation in three hours?” He reclines against the headboard. “You could use the extra rest and so could I.”
I try not to gawk at his tanned chest and sexy abs. “Did you sleep in your boxers?”
“I don’t wear boxers.” He sets his phone on the table on his side of the bed.
“Briefs?”
His upper lip curls. “Do I look like a briefs guy?”
“Leopard print?”
He cracks up like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. His glorious smile lights up the dim room, his flexing muscles making him look like a model—a naked model.
“Are you naked under there?” I gasp and point to the sheet covering his groin.
“It’s the only way I sleep, baby.” He tucks his hands behind his head, a pleased grin on his face.
I must have experienced more trauma than I realized because a small part of me wants to lift the covers and see what Easton has going on.
Ridiculous. Stupid. Behavior.
Easton would seize the moment and try to use it to his advantage. Also, do I want to know how amazing he looks naked? I’ve no doubt every inch of him is perfection. The closest I’ve seen of him to naked—before this—was in a bathing suit. Even his feet are attractive.
“What are you thinking, Sadiecakes?” His flirty tone draws my gaze to his whiskey eyes.
Was I staring at his groin that whole time?
His smirk says I was.
“I’m just processing this. You’re naked and in my bed.”
Easton and I hang, we joke, we text, we call, we complain, occasionally. We don’t strip together—not that I’m naked—or lie in bed for a night, spooning.
“This is new territory for us.” I tug at my t-shirt. “Hey? Did you put me in this?”
He tilts his head and stares at my collar. “It’s not on backwards, is it?”
“No.” I don’t think. I check. On the correct way. I check my panties to see if those are on the right way and glower at what I find. “A thong? Really?”
“What?” He shrugs.
“It’s black lace.” I glower.
