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“I know. But I’m sure you can manage two more nights.” He yawned, wriggling even closer.
“You didn’t read my shirt, did you?”
“No. But judging by your mood, it’s telling me to fuck off.”
I snorted because he was right. “Exactly.”
“My shirt says I don’t give a shit what yours says.”
“You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“I know. Aren’t you lucky? You can feel these abs all day long.”
I rolled my eyes as he stifled his own laughter behind me. “Wow. Someone thinks he’s funny.”
“Someone’s in a mood.”
“You’re touching me. I want to sleep. This is like torture.”
“All right. Fine.” He released me, untwining our legs, moving his hand from my stomach, and yanking his arm out from under my neck.
“Ow,” I muttered, shifting so not a single part of our bodies were touching.
That was better.
“Night, Red.”
“Night.” I moved, trying to get comfortable.
On my side.
On my back.
One arm over my head.
One foot out of the covers.
One leg out.
Both feet out.
On my other side.
Dammit.
“Stop wriggling,” Adam mumbled after a few minutes.
“I can’t get comfy.” I huffed and flopped onto my back, letting my arms fall like dead weights onto the bed.
Adam rolled onto his back. “You wanna cuddle?”
Yes.
“No,” I replied, rolling onto my side and against his.
He laughed, raising one arm and wrapping it around me as I nestled my head against his chest and hooked one leg over his. “Yeah. Feels like it.”
“I don’t want to.” I rested one arm over his toned stomach. “Just because I am cuddling you doesn’t mean I want to.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” he said dryly. “You’ll be asleep in minutes.”
I yawned. “No, I won’t.”
He laughed quietly, shoulders shaking, but didn’t say anything else to me.
“Adam?”
“Yeah?” His lips moved against the top of my head.
“I’m kind of into you, too,” I murmured, eyes heavy with sleep.
Gently, he squeezed me. “I know. I know.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – ADAM
Mimosas and Moms
We woke the same way we’d fallen asleep. Together, although we’d both been on our sides. Poppy’s ass had been nestled against my cock, and if we hadn’t been woken by the shrieking of her phone ringing, there was no doubt how the morning would have started.
Morning sex.
Damn her mom.
I was starting to see her point about her being Satan. My cock definitely was, and he’d protested the entire time I’d been in the shower.
I refused to jack off while she was in the next room. It felt weird and not…right.
I walked into the bedroom where Poppy was still grumbling to herself about seven a.m. wake-ups.
“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” I asked, rubbing my hair with a towel.
She shot me a look so fierce I think my balls receded back up into my body. “Do I look like a fucking morning person?”
“You look like you should be the killer in a horror movie.”
She turned, her gaze never softening. Her shirt summed up her mood perfectly. “The early bird can have the worm. Because worms are gross and mornings are stupid.”
I couldn’t bite back the laugh that bubbled out of me. “Interesting shirt.”
Another flat stare at me. “Do you want to die?”
“In another seventy or so years,” I replied, tossing the towel onto the bed
“Can you put some clothes on?”
“You know something, Red? Where you’re concerned today, I’ve had brighter bouts of the stomach flu.”
She flipped me the bird. “It’s too early for this stuff. Seven in the morning and my mother is on the damn phone freaking about napkins. I told her to ask Rosie and she said she isn’t even awake yet!” She slammed her mascara down on the side as I tugged my boxers up over my ass. “She doesn’t get married until tonight! Can’t we all have a little lie-in to make up for a late evening wedding? Nooo, Commander-in-Chief Mom requires us all up and at it like I give a shit about napkins.”
I wanted to ask her if she was going to start her period, but I’d done that once with my sister and I never wanted to do it again. I still had the scar on my knee from her throwing a book at me.
It was a hardback and the corner had broken the skin.
That, and I’d been an irritating teen who picked the scab.
We all had our faults. I was a picker. That was mine. Everything but the nose.
So, I went for the safe route: “Do you want to go and get coffee?”
“Do I?” she asked, looking over at me. “What do you think?”
“I think I need coffee if this conversation is going to last much longer,” I said honestly, grabbing a t-shirt and shorts from my drawer.
She poked her tongue out at me and grabbed her hairbrush. Snapping a hairband onto her wrist, she pulled her hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. Wispy bits fell down over her pale neck and ears, and she pulled a bobby pin from her makeup bag to secure the neck bits.
