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“Not since before I left D.C.” She glances at me and scoffs. “Exhaustion might have something to do with it.”
“Did I…say anything?” I ask after a moment. I don’t want to ask. But I’ve never had anyone sleeping with me when I had a nightmare about Elliot. Which have been fairly consistent over the last several months.
She shakes her head. “Just groaning mostly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’ll go to the couch.”
She grabs my arm. “Wait.” She backtracks and shifts back. “You woke me up. The least you could do is sit up with me until I fall asleep.”
I shift back. “Yeah. Okay. What do you want to talk about?” I’m expecting her to ask about Elliot. Since she mentioned her parents, she probably suspects.
“Well, I can’t help but want to ask about the obvious.”
I raise a brow.
“Tell me about the tattoos.”
My head swings in her direction. “My ink? Why?”
“I’m curious. What do they mean?”
I lick my lips. Every time a girl asks about my ink, it’s their way of getting to know me. To get deep. To make me vulnerable. “What is it with girls and wanting to know the story behind every tattoo? They act like it’s a key to everything there is to know about me through what I choose to imprint on my body.”
“Gee I wonder why.”
“I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else who asks. I wanted to be different. Nothing means anything. There’s no story. And I’m not smitten with your interest in them. Okay?”
She lifts her gaze from my shoulder to my eyes. It’s a brave stare considering I just told her off, but she does it anyway. And holds it for a beat.
“Okay,” she says softly. Her voice a little hoarse from sleep, and God it’s fucking sexy. She yawns and closes her eyes. I catch a hard swallow before she sets her head back on the pillow and turns away from me.
Fuck.
It’s a good three minutes before I speak again, and I know she’s not sleeping behind those closed eyes.
“Pepper?”
There’s no response.
For several minutes after, I can’t get myself to focus on anything but her breathing. Or worse—if I might have upset her enough to trigger a bad dream.
I’d never want to put that on anyone.
She does eventually fall asleep—and I like being able to tell the subtle shift. The gentle rise and fall of her chest tells me she’s finally there.
Her relaxed muscles melt the tension in my chest, in my gut and I’m grateful for the moment of peace.
Hers—not mine. I will never be at peace. And what I said to her after she opened up to me out of nowhere is likely going to eat away at me too.
12
Istir at the unwelcome morning light that filters through the curtains. Like the bustling New Yorker I’ve trained myself to be, my disorientation fades quickly and I remember where I am.
Chase’s apartment is nothing like the cottage he gave Elliot—which is where I wish I was waking up right now.
My body hurts. Bad.
I groan. Heat floods my cheeks when I think about Chase. I shouldn’t have opened up to him the way I did. I thought it might help.
