“No,” she cries, holding me tight.
“Baby, I need to go to bed, too. Let you get some beauty sleep.”
“Don’t go.” I search her face, looking for signs that she’s awake and aware of what she’s saying right now.
Her eyes are closed, her long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks, and she’s breathing steadily.
I wrap my fingers around her wrists, ready to detach her from my body, but that all changes when her eyes suddenly open, locking on mine, and she whispers, “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
Motherfucker.
A heavy sigh passes my lips as I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead.
“Why is it that I can’t say no to you?”
“Because you love me,” she mutters sleepily.
My breath catches, and her arms fall to the bed as I stumble back, my chest heaving.
Could I? Could I fall in love with this woman?
It’s a question I don’t really need to ask myself, because I already know the answer.
Without putting much thought into it, I pull my T-shirt over my head, abandoning it on the chair in the corner of her room. I leave my sweats on—it feels safer that way—and crawl into bed with her, both hating and loving every single second of it.
The second I’ve settled on my back, Bea snuggles closer, resting her head on my chest and wrapping her arm around my waist.
My heart continues to pound as her breathing evens out and her entire body relaxes against mine.
I’ve never slept with a woman before. I’ve always made a point of showing them the door once I’ve gotten what I wanted. Allowing them to snuggle, or even worse, sleep, gives them false hope that there could be something between us. The last thing I’ve ever wanted to do was lead women on and then ultimately hurt them when I can’t give them what they want.
But sending Bea away, putting space between us, is the very last thing I want to do. If anything, I want to drag her closer. And the problem with that is that I think the only one who will be hurt at the end of it all will be me.
This might have started out as being together to fix my reputation, but somewhere along the way, it’s become so much less about what I can get out of it.
It’s become all about what I don’t think I’m going to be able to live without.
53
BEATRICE
Iwoke up this morning later than planned, and since the moment I opened my eyes—about three seconds before I ran full speed to the toilet to vomit—I’ve felt like I’m missing something. And it hasn’t gotten any better all day.
I’ve checked my calendar over and over, but I can’t see anything.
My clients all arrive as usual. My lunch is delivered, thanks to an order from Everett, just like it has every day for weeks now.
And as the day draws to a close, I still can’t figure it out.
Ready to head home, I grab my things and get ready to lock up, seeing as I’m the last one in tonight, but as I head toward the salon door, I discover that I have people waiting for me. Three of them, to be exact.
Excitement flutters in my belly. I’ve been chatting with them in our group chat—Vipers WAGs—for a while now, but despite trying to organize something, someone has always been busy.
A laugh tumbles free as I watch them goof about on the other side of the windows.
“Bea,” Parker squeals before shoving the others out of the way so she can get to me first.
Her arms wrap around me, and I immediately embrace her back.
