Eventually, though, I manage to calmly set my phone aside and grab the remote.
Then I turn on the TV and I watch as Joey and the rest of the Sierra win the game.
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Fucking perfect.”
The bed bounces slightlyand I open my eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Joey murmurs, pulling the covers back.
God, she’s beautiful, and dressed in nothing but one of my tees.
It must be late—really late—considering she and the team had to fly up to Vancouver after their game.
“Hey, Red.” I lift a hand, wrap my fingers around her wrist. “Come here.”
She comes, crawling into bed next to me, curling up against my side. Sighing, I nuzzle at her hair, loving the scent of her, the feel of her in my arms. “How’d you get in, baby?”
“Shh,” she says. “It’s the middle of the night. We can talk about my breaking and entering skills later.”
My lips curve, but then they flatten out again.
Because I remember that fucking phone call.
Remember that the case against Hiller is fucked and that she might have to deal with the bastard going free?—
“Damon?” She rolls over, hand settling on my chest. “What’s wrong?”
I realize I’ve gone stiff.
It takes nearly everything in me to relax my body. I smooth back her hair, press a kiss to her forehead. “Nothing, baby.”
“Sweetheart—”
A pulse through my middle, worry gnawing at my bones.
“It’s nothing,” I lie. “I just remembered the meetings I have tomorrow.”
She’s still for a long moment, as though gauging that answer for truth.
I brace.
Because it’s a fucking lie.
But she doesn’t call me on it.
Just presses her lips to my throat and murmurs, “Okay, honey. Then let’s get you some rest so you can make it through those meanings.”
“Thanks, Red.”
She smiles, lips hitting mine for a brief, sweet kiss.
Then I tuck the blankets around us, draw her closer, and settle in to go to sleep.
She’s out in minutes.
But it takes me much, much longer.
THIRTY-THREE
