“I’m with Taylor on this one,” I say, ignoring Matty as he elbows me. “The earlier we start, the earlier we finish. It’s just logic, guys. Matty, no partying tonight. Sorry, buddy.”
The room echoes with theatrical groans.
Taylor smiles at me, and it feels… real.
Since when did I join Team Taylor?
???
JP conveniently disappears for the rest of the night, leaving me with a head full of doubts.
I make a decision right then: Regardless of how mind-blowing it was, I have no intention of reenacting that hallway indiscretion. I can handle four more days in this pressure cooker. I just need to dive into work, not the ravenous jaws of the Big Bad Wolf.
Taking Taylor’s advice, we decide to hit the sack early. But sleep doesn’t come easy. It never does when my dreams choose to run wild.
I’m transported back to being a pint-sized version of myself in the garden of my childhood home, sprinting toward Buddy.
A menacing growl reverberates from Buddy’s throat, but I choose to ignore it. In my childish belief, I’m convinced I can melt his anger and darkness with my touch.
In a display of misplaced bravery, my arm snakes through the picket fence.
Buddy’s growl deepens, his once warm eyes are filled with something cold. As I reach out to touch him, Buddy snaps, his jaws closing around my little hand.
“No!” I scream.
It’s sharp, a searing pain that travels from my arm and spreads through my entire body. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a squeak.
The barking grows louder, morphing into a bizarre, grating noise.
Then, just like that, the dream fades away, transitioning into the soft glow of the early morning light. It takes me a minute to realize I’m in one of the luxurious suites at JP’s mansion, not caged in my nightmare.
I glance over to the source of the persistent noise.
Matty.
Sprawled across the bed like a starfish, his mouth hanging wide open as he snores loud enough to wake Tutankhamun.
He lets out a loud grunt and jolts in the bed as if invisible hands smacked him in his sleep.
I choke back laughter and check my phone. 4 a.m.
My God, what was that? I reach for the dream journal the clinic prescribed.
Ever since the accident, my dreams have taken a nightmarish detour, as if my subconscious refuses to let go of the stupid memory of an old dog from years ago.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I glance at my unscathed arm, still feeling the phantom pain of Buddy’s bite.
The picture of Daredevil slips from between the pages of my journal. My sexy solo sessions alternate between JP and the faceless Daredevil under his boomerang-shaped hat.
Two hot kisses in the space of weeks. I think the universe is helping me make up for lost time.
It feels silly bringing the photo here. I thought if I squint hard enough at it, the past would rush back to me.
The happy girl in the photo seems to be saying,Be brave, we’ll find our way back to each other!
I need to connect the dots between me and her.
Because this person? She’s a stranger to me.
