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“I’ll call a cab,” I say with a sigh, and at that precise moment, a thunderclap sounds so loudly, I yelp in terror, dropping my bag of peas to the floor. “I hate storms,” I explain, my hand on my chest over my racing heart.
“Well, you can’t go back out there then,” Dixon says, picking up the peas and placing them against my injured hand.
“So what do you suggest?” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet his, touched by his kindness to tend to my wounds.
“Well…you could stay here,” he casually suggests with a shrug, applying firmer pressure to my hand.
“Here?” I gasp, my heart beginning to race once again.
“Sure. I’ll sleep on the sofa. No biggie.”
“No, I can’t do that,” I quickly counter because that would be wrong.
“What? Stay here?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting together as he releases my hand.
Yes, I so should not be staying here. But it’s getting late, and I’m running out of options.
I’ve come to a crossroads, and I’ve decided I want Dixon in my life. Although I’m seeing David, that doesn’t mean I can’t be Dixon’s friend. This is all part of moving on with my life.
So with that affirmation in mind, I clarify, “I can’t let you sleep on the sofa.” I would feel awful kicking him out of his bed.
“I don’t mind,” he says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“Well, I do,” I stubbornly argue. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not sleeping on the sofa.”
I’m suddenly struck with a very bold idea. “We’re both adults. I mean, we could both sleep in your bed. If you don’t mind,” I add, not wanting to seem presumptuous.
A smirk tugs at Dixon’s lips. “As long as you don’t snore, then sure, I don’t mind sharing my bed with you.”
I laugh, happy he’s making jokes. “Not that I’m aware of,” I confess.
Dixon nods, and as he slowly scans down my body, my cheeks flush a bright red.
“Would you like a change of clothes and a shower?” he asks after clearing his throat.
Picking at my soaked top, I nod. “Yes, please. Sorry for imposing.”
Dixon shakes his head, his damp hair flicking up in deliciously rebellious peaks. “You’re no imposition at all.”
As Dixon makes his way down the hallway, I realize that I want to ask who the handsy blonde was. But what right do I have? He can see whoever he wants. I mean, we’re just friends, right?
This is a bad idea on all accounts, yet I can’t look away when Madison switches off the bathroom light and enters my room. My Einstein T-shirt looks like a dress on her, and the pajama bottoms are dragging along the floor even though she’s rolled them up a number of times. She subconsciously tugs at the loose collar, but it slides off her shoulder, so she gives up with a huff.
“Thanks for lending me your clothes,” she says with a small smile.
“No problem.”
There’s no way I’m having her in my bed in only her underwear, as there will be no hope of me controlling myself.
Madison pads over to the bed and gently pulls back the black comforter and slips underneath. I’m resting against the headboard, trying my best to appear impassive about her being in my bed as I flip through my iPad, looking at God knows what.
She lets out a contented sigh as she settles low, the blankets resting under her chin. She looks way too tempting, snugly wrapped up in my bed, and she also looks like she belongs.
Looking down at her, I realize that my stupid rule is now utterly obsolete because I love having her here in my home, but more so, in my bed.
Clearing my throat, I switch off my device and turn off the light, shrouding my bedroom in almost complete darkness.
