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Slash.
I wasn’t brave enough to call him and thank him for his thoughtfulness because I was afraid I’d blurt out all my feelings.
Instead, I settled for a text, hoping it was enough of an olive branch.
* * *
Slash still hadn’t replied to my text by the time I got ready for bed. I tried not to feel uneasy about it, but I was hormonal. At least that’s what I blamed it on.
I made sure the house was locked up and the lights turned off before climbing under the covers. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, listening for sounds coming from the neighborhood. Every once in a while a car would drive through, but other than that, there was no traffic. It was quiet and oddly unnerving.
The bed had been comfortable when I’d tested it in the store with Slash, but now that it was just me, I found it too big.
I gritted my teeth and rolled over onto my belly and then reached for the light and turned it out.
A few minutes later, I finally gave up and draped myself diagonally across the mattress and fell asleep.
The chirp of my phone woke me.
With a groan, I scooted toward the nightstand and grabbed my cell. Slash’s name appeared on the screen.
You awake?
I typed outYes.
My phone rang and I answered it.
“Hey,” I greeted softly.
“Hey. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I nibbled my lip. “Where are you?”
“Stopped for the night at a dank trucker motel in a town no one has ever heard of.”
“Oh.”
“How’s the bed?”
“Big. Roomy. Too roomy.” I let my unspoken words hang in the air.
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
He paused for a moment. “I should let you go back to sleep.”
“Probably. I had a hard time falling asleep, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what I’m doing right now?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, which instantly made my nipples pebble.
