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“Thanks,” he mumbles through droopy eyes, still half asleep.
“No problem,” I smile, guiding his floppy head back to the couch. “Turn over, on your side,” I instruct, using his shoulder to flip him over.
“Rox...” he protests, hesitantly turning over until he’s finally resting on his side.
Rox. That’s kind of cute.
Ew. No, Roxy. Stop. He’s your boss.
I must be in my ovulation phase because my hormones are raging around this man. I swear, everything he’s doing is making me horny.
“See, that wasn't so hard.” I gently pat his shoulder while pushing away my irrational thoughts.
I grab the throw pillow from behind his waist and position it beneath his head.
“I’ll leave the water and sandwich here on the table if you need them, okay?”
“Mkay,” he mumbles, his eyelids growing heavy.
I stand from the floor, leaning over him to swipe the fuzzy blanket hanging over the back of the couch. I drape the cover over his body before staring down at his beautiful, golden face.
His honey-brown hair is messy in the most sexy but cute way. His gold-flecked eyes are hooded by long, dark lashes any woman would be envious of. Freckles dust across his cheeks and nose, making him look a bit boyish. His soft lips are pursed together in an almost smile, like he’s in a peaceful state. His long fingers twitch beside his broad chest, slowing as he falls into a deeper sleep.
God, he’s gorgeous. It’s simply not fair.
Feeling the need to touch him one last time, I lean forward and place a soft kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight, Elliot,” I whisper.
I don’t miss the way his lips curve up in a sweet smile. I can’t help but smile back.
No less than a minute later, he’s out like a light and whatever moment we were just having is gone. Just like that. My heart twinges at the thought.
“Stop being delusional, Roxy,” I mutter to myself. “He doesn't like you like that. Hell, he doesn't like you at all. He’s drunk, and that’s all this is.”
In a few hours, when he’s awake and conscious, he’ll go back to hating your guts.
I spend the next ten minutes trying to get my mind off of the events of tonight. I clean the kitchen, brush my teeth, wash my face, and fill up Spooky’s food bowl. When I walk back into the living room, my brows pinch together in confusion.
Where the hell is Spooky?I haven't seen him since we got home.
I search my small apartment before I find his little head and two glowing eyes peeking out from underneath my bed.
There you are.
“Hey, buddy,” I coo, kneeling down beside the bed to pet his fuzzy head.
“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” I mutter, rubbing his head.
He purrs as if to say he missed me.
“I missed you too, bud.”
I guess it would make sense that he’s scared and hiding away. I rarely ever have guests over.
“I’m going to be in the other room tonight,” I mutter, staring down at his luminous eyes. “When you’re done being a scaredy-cat, come join me,” I chuckle. “I promise he won’t bite, or at least I don’t think he will,” I add, referring to the beautiful, drunk man on my couch.
I’m not delusional. I know that Spooky doesn't understand a word I’m saying, but this is what we do. I talk, and he listens. However, it would be great if he could speak English because Spooky sleeps with me every night, so he’s definitely going to know something is off when I’m not in my bed tonight.
