It wasn’t romantic.
It was filthy and intense and so vivid my body reacted like it was real.
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan into my pillow.
“Seriously?” I mutter and slam my fists into the mattress on either side of me. “What is wrong with me?”
I drag the blanket up to my chin like it’s going to hide me from my own thoughts. It’s too late. My brain’s already done the damage.
In the dream, I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t cautious. I wasn’t trying to keep things professional or remind myself that I’m just a worker in his club.
In the dream, I wanted him.
Bad.
That’s the problem.
Because even though I’m awake, I can still feel it. That ache deep in my gut, pulling for him even though he’s not really here. My body’s annoyed that I didn’t finish whatever my brain started.
I open my eyes again and stare at the ceiling once more.
I barely know him.
He’s dangerous. He’s entitled. He’s powerful in a way I can’t even explain without sounding insane. He’s King of all the bad, which I still haven’t processed because I’m trying not to process anything that sounds like it belongs in a myth.
I’m out here dreaming about him like a desperate teenager with a crush.
I shove my face into my pillow again.
“This is not happening,” I tell myself.
But my body doesn’t care what I tell myself. My body’s already decided Orpheus is a temptation.
I force myself out of bed and into the shower before I can spiral. The hot water helps me get my bearings. It grounds me. Gives me something to focus on besides a vampire king and the way he looked at me last night, like I was something he couldn’t quite figure out.
Still, even as steam fills the bathroom and water runs down my skin, my mind keeps slipping, going back to the Orpheus.
His office.
The art on the walls.
The way he said my name back, so quiet and deliberate, like he was tasting it.
The way he stared at me when I talked back to him, not angry, not offended, but interested. Or intrigued. I don’t know.
I rinse the conditioner out of my hair and scrub my face like I can scrub the thoughts away as well.
It doesn’t work.
It’s as if he’s ingrained himself in my mind.
By the time I’m dressed, it’s late afternoon. The light outside is already starting to shift. Soon the sun will be down.
I’ve got errands to run. Normal things. Human things. Grocery store. Laundry. Picking up the stupid, cheap coffee I like because it makes me feel like I’ve got my life together when I don’t.
I keep my day simple on purpose. The less time I spend alone with my thoughts, the better.
Even so, I can’t stop myself from checking the street too often. Watching reflections in windows. Listening for footsteps that match mine.
