A flicker of humor, of light in those hazel eyes, and for a moment, I think I’m going to break through.
But he just replies with, “You’re welcome,” before disappearing down the hall.
And as I sit in the empty kitchen, slowly polishing off my bowl of cereal, all I can think is that I really should have gone with the Frosted Sugar O’s.
Because this healthy stuff tastes like shit.
Hours later,I prop open Jace’s door and move down the hall.
The vacuums haven’t run for at least a half hour and the lights are dim, the space quiet except for an odd humming sound.
So, I take the chance to look, to see if maybe Icansleep in my own bed after all.
But what I find isn’t exactly conducive to that.
The cleaners are gone and while they’ve mopped up most of the water, they’ve also opened all the windows and brought in a bunch of big ass fans that are currently creating a wind tunnel in my condo.
It’s damp and loud and freezing cold.
No, I won’t be sleeping here tonight.
The question is, though, should I sleep in Jace’s guest room?
I could call Jean-Michel or Chrissy or Rory. They would offer up hospitality in a second. But…they’re newly coupled up, just starting their happily ever afters, they don’t need me cramping their style.
And anyway, I don’t need to be across town in the morning.
I need to be here, down the hall, ready to deal with this mess bright and early.
So, I close and lock the door, pad back to Jace’s condo, doing the same there, though I pause before I head to the guest room and peel off my now wet socks. But when I start forward again, I realize the hems of my pajama pants are wet too, leaving trails of moisture on his gorgeous hardwood floor.
I pause just inside the guest bedroom and push them down, leaving me in my oversized hoodie, underwear, and tank.
Then turn for the bathroom, intending to hang them and my socks up to dry.
It’s my turn that has me spotting it.
Hearing it.
The faint sound of music. The narrow bead of light.
Curiosity…
Well, I guess it got the catandme.
I move toward the music, toward the light, and?—
My breath hitches when I catch sight of him, his big body sprawled out on a brown leather couch…sleeping.
And he looks…
Peaceful and beautiful and I don’t know why, but my feet carry me forward, carry me toward that big couch and the sleeping man on top of it.
I stop when my toes bump against the leather, and it’s only then that I realize how close I’ve come, how creepy I’m acting (oh, the irony). I slam the lid on my curiosity—and on mycreepy—and start to retreat.
Only…he looks so much younger like this, eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks, face relaxed, those lines around his mouth, scattered on his temples softer. Quiet and peaceful and a little disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, locks of hair having fallen forward, draping over his forehead.
I should turn away.
