“I’m not supposed to.” What they actually said was,Sleep until you get bored of sleeping. Being alone isn’t new for me. Complaining about a suite in a luxury hotel is rich asshole behavior anyway.
Brayden nudges my shoulder gently. “You afraid of breaking a few rules?”
“You trying to get an invitation, B?” I ask, mostly to watch his cheeks flame with color again.
He gives a half shrug. “Maybe. You might wake up in a coma.”
“That doesn’t—”Happen. Because the doctors had said it was a myth, and Savannah had said the same. I’m about to tell him just that when there’s another burst of noise from behind us. The throbbing in my brain goes from fireworks to supernova. I pinch the bridge of my nose hoping it will help. It doesn’t.
Brayden seizes me by the arm. “Yeah, c’mon.” He drags me toward the elevator, punches the button for my new floor. Whenwe arrive, he shuffles me up the hallway then scans the card on the room key reader. Even the snick of the lock is too loud.
Inside, Brayden keeps herding me—past my suitcases that the team piled in one corner, past the small living area with two couches, a coffee table, and a TV, over to an enormous bed. A Texas king? An Alaska? One that’s made for something more exciting than what I’m doing. I pull off my shirt, push down my pants, crawl into it and spend a moment breathing raggedly on the white comforter.
A second later, something damp makes contact with my arm. Brayden with a can of ginger ale that must have come from the minibar. “That shit’s expensive,” I say reflexively, even if the team’ll pay for it.
“Asher”—Brayden taps my arm again with the can—“quit fucking arguing and drink this.”
I take the can and sip it slowly. My stomach settles. My head throbs a little less. “Thanks.”
Brayden cups his hand mockingly by his ear. “What was that?” But he says it quietly. “I let Sav know where we are.”
“You two don’t have to?—”
“So you keep saying.” He rolls his eyes. “Move over.” He settles on the bed next to me, shower shoes kicked off, sock clad feet almost touching mine. Last night, we were naked and gasping in each other’s grips. Tonight…this is something different. Closer, somehow.
After a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door. Brayden hops up, opens it, admits Savannah. She’s holding several bags. “I brought dinner,” she says.
Brayden takes the bags from her, presses a kiss to her cheek. I figured they would just get me settled here and then leave to go do whatever someplace else.Be married without you.
“You feel like eating?” Savannah asks me.
“No.” Because my stomach is still clenched even if I know I’ll feel worse if I don’t.
Savannah lifts an eyebrow at me, then turns to Brayden. “You’re right, he is being more difficult than usual.” As if they’d been talking about me with one another.
Brayden makes atold yougesture, then begins to unpack the bags on the coffee table, including a container of soup that starts gently steaming when Brayden pries it open.
I pull myself up, manage to carry myself over to the couch as Savannah watches me like I might collapse. When I get there, she hands me a plastic spoon and a package of crackers, our fingers brushing casually.
We shouldn’t do this. What Brayden had said. That whatever happened needed to stay the hell out of the clubhouse.
And yet, they’re here. Maybe the boundaries of whatever this is extend to rooms with lockable doors. I could ask—could argue. It doesn’t take much to rile either of them up.That’s why you like them. Something that had taken about five seconds of knowing Sav to confirm and weeks of being around Brayden to admit. That ache returns to my chest: the ache of wanting something impossible. Something I’d drive all night just to have the chance at.
So I don’t argue. I eat the soup Sav brought—chicken—along with the crackers and the ginger ale Brayden wordlessly brings over so I don’t have to get it from the nightstand.
After I eat, I dig my toothbrush out of my suitcase, make it as far as brushing my teeth when fatigue hits me. I check the time. Hours until I can even take more pain meds. No way out but through. I make it back to the couch. Collapse with a sigh. “I’m just gonna—” I don’t remember if I get the words entirely out before I fall asleep.
When I wake up, Brayden and Sav are still there, Brayden’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, watching a reality show on the muted TV:Stable of Lovewith lagging, inaccurate subtitles.
I pull myself up. My mouth and eyes are still clouded with sleep, but my head feels better. A bottle of water sits on the coffee table. I take a few deep swallows.
“Did we wake you?” Savannah asks.
“You’re good.” Even if I avert my eyes from the TV’s glare. “Is this the one where they all work on a ranch?”
Brayden’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you’d be into weird artistic shit.”
“I only watch it ironically,” I deadpan, then turn to Sav. “Is Sonya still on it or did she have to hang up her spurs?”
