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12
DAVIS
The sound of birds chirping seeps into my awareness. Through the thin veil of sleep, I can hear the brisk rustling of the wind in the trees.
Reluctant to face the day, I bury my nose into the silky nest of candy-scented hair spread out on the pillow. She must have forgotten to put it in a ponytail last night. When she wakes up, she's going to be so mad at herself.
I smile lazily. I like her hair when it’s wild and messy. Even when it gets in my mouth.
Her long legs tangle with mine under the scratchy covers and she rocks her hips back against me.
Mmm…
I slide my palm under her T-shirt, up the curve of her hip and my fingertips play with the lacy trim of her panties. She whimpers and her shapely ass arches back on my morning wood again.
So fucking perfect…She’s perfect…
She says my name on a foggy moan. "Davis...oh..." The sensual tone of her voice makes my erection throb with need. She grinds on me one more time. That feels so good.
Boy, I got amazing sleep last night. I haven’t slept this good since…since…My brain sputters out as it tries to make sense of my jumbled up thoughts.
Something doesn’t quite feel right, though. I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Just as I’m about to slip my hand between her warm thighs, my good sense snaps on like a light switch and reality comes rushing in, kneeing me in the gut.
My eyes shoot open. Holy shit!
Alana is my ex. I can’t touch her like this.
My guilt gives me a good, quick shove. I jolt so hard that I immediately topple over the side of the mattress, yanking all the blankets down with me.
“Ouch!” I bark as my tailbone hits the wooden floor.
There’s rustling in the bed and then Alana’s confused, sleepy head pops over the edge of the mattress.
She blinks slowly, like she’s trying to orient herself. “Davis?” she says, clearly surprised to see me. This time, there’s no erotic lilt in her voice. This time, it’s just confusion in her tone. “Why are you…? What are you…? What are you doing on the floor?”
Groaning, I reach behind me and rub my aching ass.
She blinks one more time and the sleep gradually melts off of her face. She sits upright on the mattress. “Wait—did you fall off the bed?”
Another grunt is my only response.
“Oh my god,” she mumbles to herself.
Her eyes sweep over me and I watch as the concern on her face slowly morphs…into laughter.
Shoulder-rattling, face-reddening, boob-jiggling laughter.
She’s laughing at me? Is she serious?
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” I question her, incredulous.
Vigorously shaking her head back and forth, she covers her mouth with a palm. “No, I…you…you…? No…” But despite her denials, those chortles just keep on coming.
She can’t stop laughing. I can’t believe she’s laughing.
Granted, I probably look ridiculous down here, spread out like a starfish tangled up in the sheets. But still, she doesn’t get to laugh at me.
