His words were breathless, and so desperately I wanted to lean in, brush his lips with mine. But my desire quickly died, laid to rest by a pesky case of doubt buzzing around my heart like a mosquito at a backyard BBQ. “Other than looking out for these symptoms, what else can I do to help?”
It seemed as though a million ideas stormed through his gorgeous eyes. “Sleep with me tonight.”
17
“You want me to sleep with you?” Macy’s cheeks turned the color of Mars.
“Get your head out of the gutter,Nurse Macy.”
She straightened, chin defensively tilted up. “Maybe you’re the one whose head is in the gutter.”
True.
I wanted nothing more than to have Macy Sinclair stripped down and beautiful between the sheets, my hands, mouth, and cock exploring every millimeter of her. The doctor’s orders of no strenuous activity included sex, which meant a naked Macy in my bed was out of bounds for at least two weeks.
Fuck.
“Look, I figured you can curl up beside me like you usually do after we watch an episode of Dexter.”
“You mean like Iusedto do? Because we haven’t watched Dexter for over three years,” she quipped, arms folded over her chest.
“Anyone ever tell you how adorable you look when you’re being sassy?”
“Anyone ever tell you notto use the wordadorablewhen describing a grown-ass woman?”
I chuckled, all too aware when it came to us, there never seemed to be a dull moment, our banter like nothing I’d experienced with anyone else. “All kidding aside, will you please stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me? It’ll make me feel more comfortable to know you’re here just in case I’m not feeling well in the middle of the night.”
Blue eyes searched mine, and for a second I thought her sexy mouth would ooze more of that highly-addictive sass. “Yes, I’ll stay with you tonight.”
Thank. You. God.
As the hours ticked by, Macy and I lay in bed chatting, laughing, and reminiscing about stuff we got into when we were young and even things we did in our teens. The room was dark and outside was quiet, save for the sky’s night light seeping in from the window blinds and crickets chirping in the distance.
Even though my bed was king-sized, Macy curled up beside me, close enough for me to hear—feelher murmured breaths, smell her flowery shampoo, catch moments when her lashes fluttered, the temptation to touch her almost unbearable. She was a bombshell package. Gorgeous. Alluring. Smart. I mentally kicked the fool I’d been over the years for not making a move on her, regardless of some dimwitted pact we’d endorsed as a pair of naive little kids.
“Remember, prom?” I asked, practically hearing her eyes roll in disgust.
“Oh my gosh, yes. How could I forget? You went all batty when my date and I headed up the elevator to his hotel room.”
“Batty? I was only trying to protect you.”
“From what? Becoming a prom-night cliché? First of all,” she huffed, “I never planned on doing anything with him. Second of all, I wasn’t about to lose my virginity to Derek Thompson when I was saving it for—” She stopped talking, releasing a breath as she abruptly shifted from her side, onto her back.
“You were saving it for…?”
She shifted, the two of us face to face again. “Why did you break up with Harper?”
Changing the subject had always been her specialty, and I answered the question as though her script flip didn’t bug me. “Well, I went to Harper’s house to end things, then caught her stripping for Sherlock Benson.”
“Wait.Strippingfor Sherlock Benson?” She giggled. “Holy. Fuck.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, thinking the irony of it all was actually funny.
“But, you said you’d gone there to end things anyway. Why?”
The one-worded question forced me up against two options: either become a shifty subject-changer like her or start a conversation about that blog post, paving a clear path back to the discussion we should have had before she left for her week-long interview in New York.
Which option did I choose? The one that took care of the elephant in the room.
