Easton frowns. “What?”
When I say nothing, whiskey darkens in a way that makes me shiver.
I’ve seen that look before.
Once.
Outside of Mr. Doau’s classroom.
Sleep tugs at my consciousness, luring my eyes shut, but I can’t. Not yet. There’s one more thing he has to know. The only thing that haunts me deeply enough to cause physical pain.
“Easton,” I groan.
“It’s okay. Get some rest, and we’ll talk more later.”
“There’s something. Someone ...” My breaths become heavy as I concede to the pull. “A man. He wants me back.”
I think I said it out loud.
I hope I did.
The world becomes a deep, dark sea, and I sink straight to the bottom.
My lips part, breathing deep. I sigh into smooth sheets. I’m so comfortable.
Sowarm.
My eyes flutter open to soft sunlight that slants across Easton’s room. I’m draped with his comforter and one heavy arm, his hard body molded to my back. A palm rests on the flat of my stomach, his fingers just above my panties. Our legs are bare and tangled together, and I realize I’m no longer wearing my jeans. He must have taken them off so I’d be more comfortable before he slipped in behind me.
His warm breath, heavy with sleep, strokes the side of my neck. My heart pounds a little harder with each one.
He held me all night.
I was drugged, immobile, ripe for the taking, and he only held me.
I lick my lips, taste salt, and then quickly wipe my wet cheek on my sleeve.
Images of peppery hair and icy eyes still fill my mind, but I don’t know what’s real. Was it really him watching me? Or is my box malfunctioning again, invited to taunt me by fear and confusion? I couldn’t quite make out his face, but I wasn’t even lucid enough to see the sidewalk.
And Whitney.
Anger unfurls in my stomach, tainted by disbelief and something else. Something that feels like betrayal. I know she hates me, but enough to drug me? How?Why? I don’t even know why she hates me so much. That whole Daddy Fucker spiel is weak. She has no idea how fucking sick the insult makes me, or why, so it can’t be personal.
It makes no sense.
Easton’s hair tickles my ear, his arm tightening around me. I swallow and look over my shoulder. His eyes are closed, breath heavy and slow. Even in his sleep, he wants to protect me.Stupid cop complex, I think as I kiss the side of his jaw and lace my fingers through his. His sense of honor is going to get him killed one day.
My eyes slide to his guitar against the wall, and I sink deeper in his grasp. My pulse drops, spikes, flutters. If Easton is killed, I’ll go down with him. He might be the only reason I’m still alive.
His bedroom door swings open, hits the wall with a thud, and both Easton and I jerk.
“Easton. Have you any idea how late it—” Bridget halts in her tracks.
Panicked, I try to sit up, but Easton stops me, his fingers squeezing mine almost painfully.
His heart beats so hard, so fast, I feel it against my back.
“What is this?” Bridget asks, wide eyes flicking from Easton to me.
