“Sounds good.”
“You could...” she says, her gaze almost a little shy as she looks at me. “Join. If you want.”
It's just an invitation to sit on the same couch. Watch the same screen. Exist in the same space without walls between us.
But at the same time, it's everything.
“Yeah,” I say. “I could do that.”
We settle on the couch after we clean up the kitchen. Reaperimmediately jumps up and wedges himself between us, which is probably for the best. She picks some reality show about real estate agents selling mansions on one of the streaming services.
Halfway through the first episode, she shifts her body toward mine. Her head tips toward my shoulder. Before I can react, she catches herself and straightens up.
I don't say anything.
By the second episode, she's not fighting it anymore. Her head rests lightly against my shoulder.
I stay perfectly still, barely breathing because I don’t want to give her an excuse to move away.
By the third episode, she's asleep.
I glance down. Her eyelashes are dark against her cheeks, the worry line between her brows finally smooth. Her body is relaxed, her breathing slow and even.
She trusted me enough to fall asleep on me.
I don't move. I just sit there as still as possible with her draped against my side. Reaper snores between us. I think about those worn romance paperbacks and this woman who carries the world on her shoulders and never asks anyone to help her hold it up.
I'm in trouble.
I know I'm in trouble.
And I really don't care.
CHAPTER 15
ADRIANA
I shootup in the bed and whip my head around, heart thudding hard.
How the hell did I get here?
I clutch the edge of the comforter. The last thing I remember is the couch. The stupid reality show I insisted we watch. And Lochlan's shoulder, warm against my cheek.
The bedroom door is closed. I swing my legs around until my feet hit the floor. My heels are lined up neatly by the dresser. There's a glass of water on the nightstand that wasn't there before.
He carried me. Or walked me in here half-asleep and probably draped all over him. Either way, he took care of me, and I don't know what to do with that realization.
I grab my phone and check the time. Six-thirty. Early, but not an ungodly hour. Cabinets open and close, the rich scent of coffee filling the air.
He's already up.
I pull on my robe, take a breath, and push open the door. Then I walk out of the room like I didn't just spend the night using Lochlan as a pillow.
He's at the stove, his thick, muscled back to me, wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
And nothing else.
I stop dead, my pulse shooting into my throat.
