Without asking, I put another movie on. Austen doesn’t make to move and I think he’s feeling the same way I am right now. He’s not ready for this to end, but isn’t really sure what else to do. I don’t want him to leave but I don’t know how to handle him being here. It’s stupid, and it irritates me. I hate that this is how we are, that neither of us knows how to fix what we broke, even if we both want to.
When the movie is halfway done, I look over at Austen and see him sound asleep. The upper half of his body is leaning on the arm of the chair, while his feet are still on the floor. I get up, grab a blanket from the closet and cover him with it then take his shoes off and lift his legs to the couch so he’s more comfortable. Good to know he still sleeps like the dead.
I shut off the TV and I’m halfway to my bedroom when I turn around, grab a blanket for myself, then get comfortable on the opposite end of the couch so our feet are just barely touching.
Guess I’m not ready to leave him yet.
Chapter Thirty-One
Austen
My alarm goes off at six on the dot, and I swat around to find it to turn it off, except I can’t seem to grasp it. Opening my eyes, I realize why that is, and sit up straight when I realize I’m not in my hotel room. My alarm keeps gaining in volume as something shifts beside my foot, and I look up to see the reason.
Cam grumbles in his sleep, tugging on his blanket, and the alarm on my phone is like some kind of alarm going off everywhere in my head, my heart, and most certainly my cock.
I don’t want to move, but I know I need to.
I need to get out of here. I shouldn’t have spent the night, but—
My hands grab onto my phone and I silence the buzzing alarm. Cam doesn’t seem to move, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I swear,that man can sleep through the apocalypse. A soft smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I steal a glance at him.
I’d had every intention of leaving after the first movie. But then Cam put another one on, and I was too comfortable on the couch, too comfortable withhim,to want to go anywhere, and I guess I just fell asleep.
A perfect end to a perfect day. Serendipity indeed.
But now that morning is here, I’m feeling the panic. Too many memories of the last time we woke up together… My cock jumps in my pants, reminding me of what I do every morning, and I grunt dejectedly as I adjust myself.
“Change of plans this morning,” I whisper to myself, my anxiety starting to swell.
Every morning, it’s the same routine. I’ve been doing it for years, but this morning… I can’t.
I can’t just waltz down Cam’s hallway, undress myself, and rub one out in his fucking shower.
That’s the way every damn porno starts, and just because we have found some sort of even ground—at least, Ithinkwe have found even ground, considering he didn’t kick me out of his swanky apartment at three in the morning—doesn’t mean I can just start parading around his place like I live here.
My cock once again jolts, and the need to piss is prevalent. I can do that, at least.
So I make my way down the hall to look for the bathroom. I find it easily.
Like the rest of this place, it’s spacious and elegant; all clean lines and bright, shiny white and gold in color scheme. After I’m done doing my business, I wash my hands, catching sight of myself in his large mirror. My hair is a wreck, my shirt wrinkled from my sleeping position, and the bright lights illuminate my skin and my five o'clock shadow.
Fuck, I’ll have to stop back at the hotel and make sure I change and trim up a bit.
I finish up in the bathroom, my stomach growling.
Okay, and I’m definitely going to need to eat something. One glance at my phone, and I know I should probably just see myself out, but I don’t want to leave without at least saying goodbye.
My stomach rumbles again, joined in chorus by the buzzing of the refrigerator, and I get an idea.
A slow smile spreads across my face, and I open the fridge, frowning when I see how unorganized and unstocked his fridge is.
There’s like four eggs—not enough to make two omelets, half a container of coconut milk, and a full container of strawberries, blueberries, and two apples. A half-open stick of butter stares at me from the middle shelf.
The rest of the stuff in his fridge is all take out containers, and there’s something in the back that looks like a science experiment. Though, the shelves on the door are stocked full of drinks. Water, seltzer water, juice, beer, wine seltzers, wine bottles, vodka seltzers, you name it. It makes me a little concerned, but I’m not staging an intervention or anything. I’m sure if you opened my fridge you’d see the same, except I rarely get take out. Savannah does, sure.
But I’d rather cook a five star meal in my kitchen most nights than go out to eat in Ashbourne. Plus, aside from Luigi’s, there’s not much variety unless I head into the city.
I make a mental note to send a grocery delivery over here. I know he can buy his own, but I also know sometimes people get busy. Or they just get tired and opt for take out instead.
