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Am I surprised that he gave me his bed last night? A little. Am I more surprised that he didn't join me? Absolutely.
But as much as I want to see if he's a cuddler or not, I crashed pretty much the moment my head hit his pillow.
I pop two aspirin and wash them down with half the bottle of water before I even stand up. I snag my phone and turn it on. Surprise flares through me when I only have two texts. I ignore the one from my mother and click on Cora's.
Cora: babe, the wannabe Rosewood gossip girl posted about you dancing on a table at the reaper clubhouse last night. you better call me with the details asap
I tap my index finger along the side of my phone as I stare at it. No mention of the break-in or the late-night hospital visit. Then again, the hospital can’t be the best hub for gossip. Not in this town, at least. I guess that's a good thing . . . right? I nod, reassuring myself that it’s definitely a good thing.
Me: hey! Getting a late start today, but call me when you're off work and I'll give you all the juicy details. Including the ones where I shook my ass in front of Nova's club LMAO
There, that should buy me some time to get my thoughts together and figure out what the hell I'm going to tell her. And what kind of condition Magnolia Lane is.
“Shit,” I whisper. “I need to call Robert Law.” I don't even know who my house insurance company is, but I can guarantee they're going to want a detailed report of what was stolen.
I drag my hand through my hair, tossing it off my face, and heave a sigh. I feel like I'm already overwhelmed at the prospect of going back to the house and seeing proof of what happened.
It's not even about the fear—though I recognize there's a healthy dose of fear still—but it's the fact that those people just took all of Nana Jo's things like that.
I shake my head, anger and helplessness swirling together to form a toxic tornado inside me.
It's not right.
I let myself sit for another minute before my stomach rumbles, reminding me that it's breakfast time.
I freshen up in the attached bathroom and slip on Bane's boxer briefs from last night, rolling down the waistband once so they fit more comfortably.
The wood floor is cool on my bare feet as I pad down the stairs to the first floor of Bane's house. God, justthinkingthat sentence feels weird. I have half a mind to tell Cora that I spent the night here without any other details just to watch the steam float from her ears. And maybe if the circumstances were different, I might.
I sigh, the sound a weak echo of the weight firmly lodged inside my chest. A mass of worry and confusion and bone-deep exhaustion has taken residence tucked beneath my ribs. I know I can work through it, aided by a lot of coffee, some hugs from my best friend, and sleep. So much more sleep. My body feels like it's been tossed around in the washing machine. Wrung out and aching in the oddest places.
Even though I slept like a dream in Bane's bed last night. His sheets were the perfect temperature—cool but not cold—and they smelled like him. Warm dark amber and that crisp, fresh scent of the woods after it rains. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“Hello?” My voice sounds loud in the quiet. I pause at the end of the stairs with my hand on the cap of the newel post and look around. It's not exactly what I would've pictured for Bane, but for all the feelings the man evokes, I don't even know his favorite color.
But he definitely doesn't feel like the stuffed duck and taxidermy bass on the wall. He feels like artfully cut driftwood and dried pampas grass. He feels like a modern lake house with a huge waterfront property and a garage full of four-wheelers. He feels like a lit fireplace and a cozy Sherpa throw blanket.
Concrete tile flooring from the kitchen to the living room. It's an open floor plan where one room bleeds into the other.
The kitchen has rich, maple-colored cabinets and polished silver hardware. Two backless black metal stools are tucked under the island.
There's a square blond oak dining room table with a dark-patterned rug underneath it.
I can't quite figure out the aesthetic of his house. It feels like there are five people living here, all with very different tastes.
“Lincoln?” I hesitantly step into the kitchen, peering around the half-wall corner to see the rest of the living room. It stretches along the entire side of the house. And it's empty.
“Huh.”
A bright orange sticky note in the middle of the island catches my eye. I cross the space in a handful of steps and lean over the counter to read it.
In case you wake up before I'm back:
went to grab the biggest iced chai I can find.
Make yourself at home. I'll be back soon.
—lincoln
