But I’mnotbeing honest right now.
I am desperately lying to myself, saying it’sfineandthis is fineand I’mokayandeverything’s okay.
Because—hahaha—of course it is.
Once I move out of Samson’s, I’ll just live alone in my farmhouse and spend the rest of my days stuck at eight friendship hearts—or a dozen question marks—pining for the man next door. No problem.
Maybe one day I’ll not fear rejection enough to whisper the truth to him. Or, more likely, I’ll spend the next seventeen years writing and rewriting a love letter that I deliver in a bout of severe delusional manic.
Yeah.
My future’s looking bleak.
“S-Samson?” I say, with absolutely no plan.
Already sleepy-voiced, he murmurs, “Mm?”
“T-this bed’s really plush.” I swallow. “I’m not sure I like it. I’m used to something firmer.” Like the floor. Let’s casually introduce the floor. For lumbar-supporting reasons.
“’Kay,” he mumbles, which is the weirdest response ever to what I’ve just said.
While I’m trying to figure out what’Kaymeans, his hand finds me, scoops around my waist, and reels me in. In a majestic point five seconds, I…am on top of Samson’s broad, firm chest, lips grazing my temple.
“There,” he whispers, as though my legs are not cradling one of his thighs. His body shifts, adjusting to me, and I slot right into place, like I was made to be here. The full palm of his hand smooths up my back. “Is that better, Lemonade?”
So. Um. Yeah.
I’m not sleeping tonight.
I’m counting heartbeats and going drunk on his scent.
His skin is so warm, and in the light coming from behind me, I can just make out his scar, by my mouth. With enough hysteria, I could kiss it. I might. After all, who knows what the sleep deprivation will do to me by 3:00AM. It is entirely possiblethat the half sip of wine I had earlier shut down my frontal lobe. I’m drunk. Completely, entirely, utterly— “Yeah,” I breathe. “It’s better.”
The. Best.
“Good.” His thumb moves in small, soothing strokes. “Night.”
Hoarse, I echo, “Goodnight.”
Then I don’t sleep a wink.
Chapter 25
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
I’m very sorry for the things I did while I was sleepy.
Samson shoulder pillow. Samson body bed. All night.
“How’s it feel?” the same woman from yesterday adjusts my armor—which is beautiful dark leather with hundreds of metal scales sewn into it. My movements cause the metal to sing, and I can just imagine the symphony it will make while I’m facing off against monsters.
In other news, I need to kill something.
Stretching my arms, I nod. “It’s great. Thank you.”
“Cool. Delafos will check ya out. I’ve got another project to finish up for the guy your boyfriend punched yesterday.”
Oh.
