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“Fox.” My head dropped to the side. I was stunned. “You really didn’t have to.” And although there certainly wasn’t any obligation to have me sleeping on the good bed, my neck, back, and head were definitely thanking him. I wasn’t about to complain to my host the night before, especially since I would have had to settle for some shitty hotel if it weren’t for Fox’s kindness, but sleeping on the couch bed was something I had been dreading. Ever since I was shot, my entire body had become much more sensitive. Some days felt like I was a live wire, bare and broken, flailing in a harsh wind. Thankfully, those days were few and far between, but I knew that sleeping on a spring-busted mattress was going to have me feeling like death. This hangover was already doing a well-enough job of that, so the fact that Fox took the hit and carried me to his bed overflowed me with gratitude.
This man was truly something special.
And he carried me? That was… Jesus, that was actually really nice. Kind of… romantic?
The most romance I’d ever had in my life was when I tried making a candlelit dinner for Wendy, only so that she could tell me she hated how I cooked and that the candlelight gave her a migraine.
So, granted, my bar for romance wasn’t exactly set high, but being carried by a handso—
I caught myself. This was spiraling. My thoughts were running off-script. This must have been happening because of all the chaos surrounding me, that was all. I was torn up, not over Wendy exactly, but over the loss of stability in my life. A stability I had fought so hard to regain after I was shot. Sure, I wasn’t happy, but I was comfortable.
Now, though? Now, the name of the game was being uncomfortable. So I was projecting my emotions onto Fox. A man who came in like a white knight, swooping me up (literally) and fixing things I thought couldn’t be fixed.
And now, not only was I lacking a permanent place to live, but I was also growing fast and furious feelings for the man who’d come into my life only yesterday. Feelings I had no control of and absolutely zero understanding of. These were feelings I had to take out to the back and put them out of their misery, because nothing was ever going to come from them. That was one thing I could understand: the emotions that were beginning to develop from the explosive chemical reaction that was our meeting were emotions that spelled trouble.
“You can hang out here until that headache goes away. I also left a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand for you.”
And then it hit me. “Wait… today is… holy shit.” I was an idiot. A massive fuckup.
I partied yesterday as if it were a Friday night. Like there wasn’t a care in the world and there weren’t any responsibilities to handle the next day. As if I were a college kid all over again, hanging out with my buddy, shooting the shit and drinking until we passed out. Of course, my buddy had never jerked me off before, but hey, there was a first time for everything.
That would all be fine and dandy if last night were Friday. I’d have the entire weekend to deal with my tangled-up thoughts. Figure out what the hell was going on with me. I’d have that time to take to myself and wonder why the hell Fox’s body made me so hard, why his hand on my cock felt like being shown a glimpse of nirvana.
Why? Why was I growing so attracted to another man? Yes, I’d been physically attracted to guys before, but that was easier to deny. This attraction ran deeper than just the physical. It was an intense magnetism that made me blush by just locking eyes with him…
Except last night wasn’t Friday. It was Tuesday, and today was my first official workday at Stonewall Investigations as a detective. And here I was, groaning and moaning, half-naked with a splitting headache underneath my coworker’s (extremely comfortable) bedsheets.
There was no time to think about what last night meant. The clock next to the aspirin bottle read eight thirty. The heavy gray curtains were drawn shut, so I couldn’t even tell it was that late in the morning.
I threw the sheets off me. “Shit.”
“Hey, hey, relax. I was figuring you’d be late today. Don’t worry.”
“No, I don’t do that. Fox, I work hard. Hangover or not, I’m working this case with you today. Let me jump in the shower for three minutes. I’ll be right out.”
I rolled out of bed and opened the door to his en suite, revealing a nicely sized bathroom with a walk-in shower, one of those rainfall showerheads calling my name.
