“I won’t,” he says, opening my door.
“Seriously, come on, don’t do this.”
“I’ll be back.”
“When?”
He checks his watch. “An hour.”
I cock my head to the side, showing him the annoyance in my eyes but he closes the door and I hear the rumble of footsteps jogging down the steps. I lock the door after him and fall into my bed, rehashing every single mistake I don’t think I made tonight.
10
A smile stretchesacross my lips as I curl into my comforter, knowing my effort of payback was a success. There were fifteen text messages, five phone calls, and I lost track of the number of knocks against the door. All ignored. That’s what he gets for dropping his pants. Let that be a lesson he never forgets.
My smile slowly fades when I remember where my car is and the fact of having no way to get there without calling for help. Or a taxi. It’s way too early in the morning for a taxi.
I blindly make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash away the sleep with some cold water. Shockingly, I slept for more hours than usual and I feel rested. I’ll be unstoppable with coffee.
I shuffle along the wooden floor, passing the front door where I spot a folded note. Maybe it was his last attempt to get me to open the door.
I squat down and snag the paper, opening it as I stand back up.
I brought coffee, but I might fall asleep in the hallway because I’ve been sitting here all night.
Well played, Journey. Well played.
He slept in the hallway. Why? I tear open the door, hoping to startle him if he is asleep, but by the sound of a snore growling from his throat, I’m not sure an avalanche would wake him up. He’s in the same clothes as last night, a henley and jeans, and he’s using his down coat as a pillow beneath his head. His beard ... it’s gone. I didn’t think he would go through with it.
It only takes a minute before guilt runs through me. Did he feel the same kind of guilt when he drank my coffee the other morning? He looks peaceful and innocent, and if I don’t wake him up, he will be late picking up Hannah for school.
I reach my toe out and nudge the tip of his boot. “Hey,” I call out.
The gravelly sound of his snore morphs into a session of heavy breaths, but he doesn’t wake up. I consider bringing him another glass of water, but this time, spilling it over his head. Too easy, though.
I kneel beside him and place my cool hand on his cheek. “Brody, wake up.”
No movement, just elongated breaths.
“She’s so beautiful,” he mumbles. “That’s why I shaved my beard for her. She’s perfect.” I stare at him as the garbled words form with a slur. Do I believe he’s sleep talking or call his bluff? Would drool be pooling in the corner of his mouth if he was faking sleep?
“Brody?”
“She’s so beautiful,” he mutters again.
I cup my hands around his cheeks and squeeze. “Brody Pearson, you need to wake up right now.” Despite wondering if he’s sleeping or not, he jerks forward and finds my lips with an impeccable aim for having his eyes closed, but I pull away and slap his arm.
“Come on,” he whines, his eyes opening slowly. “I shaved and everything.”
When Brody’s eyes are fully alert, he stands up and grabs the two coffees before forcing me back into the apartment, forced as in I will be knocked over for not moving out of his way.
“Why did you sleep in the hallway?”
“Why wouldn’t you let me back in?” he asks.
“I fell asleep.” I shrug along with my small smirk.
He shakes his head and huffs with frustration. “Do you like my face?”
