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He carefully and slowly put her fingertip to the back of her phone to scan her fingerprint, hoping he picked the right finger to unlock it.
He did.
He could be nosy and go through her phone, but he’d be pissed if someone did that to him. Instead, he went straight for the text app, found the string of texts with Rex and saw he had sent a shitload before Dodge let him in downstairs. Not one had been answered by Syn and all unread. No wonder the guitarist ended up pounding on the door.
Dodge sent Rex a text back. I’m OK. 2 tired. Sleepn here. Talk in AM.
He hoped that would be enough to settle their worry. He turned the phone to silent and waited a minute.
With him? U sure????
Dodge set his jaw at that response and quickly texted back. I’m good. C U in AM.
He shut the phone off and attached it to the charger next to his bed. This way she’d at least have a full charge come morning.
He stared at her for a few seconds more, shook his head and with a frown, settled on his damn couch.
Her soft, steady snoring made his eyelids become heavy. As it pulled him under into Never Never Land, he realized Never Never Land was one place Syn needed to stay no matter how much she intrigued him.
She gasped as she free-fell from the sky and crashed hard, flat on her back. Her eyelids popped open and her pounding heart lodged in her throat.
Syn blinked, trying to catch her breath.
She took a few seconds to acclimate herself to where she landed when she dropped out of her dream. Or nightmare. Or whatever the hell it was this time and wherever she was.
Definitely not in the bus. Or surrounded by a trio of snoring, burping, farting men.
Okay, someone was snoring, but in the singular. Not in unison like a pack of geriatric Pugs.
She was also in an actual real bed. She hadn’t slept in a real one in what might be forever.
She was so damn tired. She had only wanted to lay down for a few minutes and rest her eyes. She’d figured she’d wake up as soon as she heard his feet on the steps. Unfortunately, forgetting he’d been barefoot.
Her mistake.
She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t think it was her that had a funky smell. Last night she had scrubbed any stink off from her after sweating on stage.
It all went down the drain in his shower.
She sat up and glanced around.
In his apartment.
Shit!
She lifted the edge of the blanket and sheet only enough to make sure she was still dressed the same way as when she crawled between them. And apparently, rolled herself up like a beef taquito.
But at least there had been sheets. Maybe she shouldn’t be relieved about that. She dropped them quickly because she did not want to discover where that funk was coming from or if those sheets had any stains.
A deep snore coming from the couch had her head snap in that direction. She couldn’t see his face, but an arm was flopped over the side, his hand resting on the floor, palm up.
She could also see the top of one bare knee, accented with dark fuzz, since his leg was cocked, and the foot from his other leg hanging off the end. Clearly, he was too big for that couch.
No surprise.
Why the hell hadn’t he woken her up and kicked her out?
She unwrapped herself from her warm cocoon and the slight chill in the air instantly hit her. With a shiver, she put her bare feet on the floor—relieved she also had on a pair of leggings—shoved the bedding out of the way and stared at her backpack propped in front of the couch.
That wasn’t where she put it.
She hurried to get up, trying to be as quiet as possible and moved closer to the man who slept on the couch near her stuff.
That was when she noticed his other hand buried deep within his boxers. The lump where his junk should be, appearing a lot larger than it really was. While she didn’t know firsthand how big he actually was, he’d been flopping freely in his boxer shorts last night.
It wasn’t some scary monster but it was definitely large enough to be noticeable. Either way, he sure liked to hang onto it for some reason.
Like a damn blankie or something.
The first thing she searched for was the wad of ones and the single five-spot that made up the twenty-one bucks she’d dug out of their tip jar last night, along with some spare change from some cheap-asses. She blew out a breath in relief when the cash was still there. What wasn’t, was her phone. It was gone.
She took her backpack away from the bar manager and placed it on the bed. Her heart began to race in panic as she checked all of the zippered compartments, still trying not to make too much noise. She couldn’t find it anywhere.
