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More questions violently surge in my mind with so much force that I’m pushed back into my original position. Being back in the same place I began restarts the cycle of insecurities. Resets the loop of worries. Reboots the series of concerns regarding my location. My purpose. My value.
“Why me?” is the unanswered question that repeats the most as I continue to twist and turn, tugging blankets on and off.
Whodid I piss off?
Whatdid I find?
Was it something discovered by logic or luck?
Knowing if I were in the comfort of my own home that I’d simply reach over and text my best friend is the reason for the next series of actions. I grab the pillow, slide on my glasses, switch my head to the foot of the bed, and position myself to be in his direct line of sight if he looks inside.
To my surprise, he’s not only facing the same direction, he’s also equally as awake.
Or at least Ithinkhe is.
It’s pretty dark.
Kind of hard to tell, although the light in the far distance allows me to make a better guess.
Slater offers me a soft grin. “Can’t sleep, can you?”
“You can’t either.”
“Ican, but I’m on duty.”
“Does that mean you’re not allowed to sleepat all?!”
“It meanslight sleepin’and only when necessary.”
“That’s not…goodfor brain function.”
“Years of successful ops tell me otherwise.” Another small smile is shot my direction prior to him stating, “Butyou,on the other hand, my beautiful, brilliant brain ninja,doneed sleep.”
“Did you just call me a brain ninja?!”
“That’s what you are.”
The top shelf snark that prepares to launch itself from my tongue comes to an unexpected halt thanks to the set of abs now fully on display due to him standing up.
Fuck. Me.Looking that good shirtless should be some sort of war crime.
An act of aggression against all lady parts currently in commission.
Slater’s arrival in his doorway is accompanied by him resting both his bent arms high up on the frame, presenting me with a perfect view of the parachuting tattoos on his cut chest as well as the deep v I have spent too many nights in the bathtub imagining myself tracing with my fingers.
And then my tongue.
Ugh.
I would almost rather whoever tried to kill me just succeed rather than have to continue to endure this new form of sexual torture for some unknown duration.
“What do you normally do when you can’t go down and the whale cries aren’t helpin’?”
Small snickers precede a small shrug. “Text you.”
“And when I’m on an assignment?”
“Do a few shots of tequila.”
