Page 71 of Wade’s Wrath

“You were supposed to,” he shouted back. Her laugh drifted back to him, and Wade smiled before heading to the kitchen. Water—he needed water. Hell, he possibly needed something stronger—definitely something stronger. He poured two fingers of whiskey and stared at it, and then he put the glass down untouched. Tomorrow mattered too much, and he needed his head clear.

By the time Harlow returned, Wade had changed into sweatpants and was pulling a blanket from the hall closet to make up the sofa for himself. She stopped, and her gaze slowly traveled over his bare chest. Wade noticed every fucking inch of her stare.

“You done?” he asked.

Her eyes snapped to him. “Done what?” she asked.

“Looking at me,” he said.

“I wasn't looking at you,” she lied.

“Sure,” he said under his breath.

“You're very full of yourself,” she chided.

“Got reason to be,” he insisted. She rolled her eyes at him, and he quickly looked her over. She was wearing his shirt again, with her legs bare and messy blonde hair pulled up on top of her head. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need to. She was beautiful without it.

Wade swallowed. “Bed's yours.”

He tossed the blanket over his shoulder, and Harlow frowned. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch,” he said.

“No,” she said, and Wade stopped. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should sleep in the bed,” she insisted. “You have a busy day tomorrow and need your sleep.”

“Nope, the couch works fine for me,” he said.

“Why won’t you sleep in the bed?” she asked.

“Because you're sleeping in it,” he said.

“It's a big bed,” she insisted.

“Not big enough,” he mumbled.

Her eyebrows lifted. “It's a king-sized bed,” she said.

“Still not fucking big enough,” he insisted.

“I need you rested for tomorrow,” she said.

“I'll sleep just fine on the sofa,” he lied. That thing was lumpy and uncomfortable, but it had to be better than sleeping in a chair.

“You didn't sleep last night,” she reminded.

“I got some sleep,” he lied.

“Liar,” she said, calling him on his bullshit. Wade sighed, and she stepped closer. “You sat in that chair most of the night.”

“Because you asked me to,” he reminded.

“I know.” Something softened in her expression. “And I'm asking you for something different tonight.”

His grip tightened around the blanket. He was holding onto it like it was his damn life preserver and he had just jumped overboard. Maybe he had. “What are you asking me for, Harlow?” he asked.

“Stay with me,” she said.

Fuck. “Harlow, don’t ask me for something that you’re not ready for,” he insisted.