“Don’t think your shorts and shirt would be very comfy to sleep in,” he says, a small smile on his lips as he crosses his arms on his chest.
“You know. you’re much more handsome when you’re not glaring at me,” I murmur, and he lets out a quick bark of a laugh, seemingly against his will.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I smile at him as I throw his shirt over my clothes, then work to slowly remove my shirt underneath. Even drunk, I manage to take off both the bra and the top I borrowed from Hallie, tossing them in a small pile on the refinished hardwood floors with my bag. Then I undo the button of my shorts underneath the oversized tee and slide them down with a relieved sigh. Although the shorts are much more comfortable than the smoothing undergarments I usually wear, there are a few things in this world that feel better than sliding off stiff clothing at the end of the day. They pool at my feet, then get stuck on my sandals, so I bend to take them off, undoing the buckles, the effort requiring my full attention.
“Willa—” he starts, then fades off, but I barely notice as I undo one sandal and then the other. Finally, I stand and turn back to face him, seeing a strange look on his face before I slide into his bed and kick the covers down with my feet. The blankets and sheets smell like Dior Sauvage, the expensive cologne I know he wears because I send him a bottle every year for his birthday. It was a stupid whim, something I bought on an impulse after smelling it in a store once and thinking it would be perfect for him.
I was absolutely right.
“But you’re still hot when you glare, so don’t stop it all the time,” I say, finishing my thought from earlier as I lie back in the bed, then shiver as my skin slides against the cold sheets. I look down my body, spot the comforter at my feet, and I kick it a few times, trying to hook it and pull it up my body. As I do, my shirt rides up my side, revealing the red lace of my thong high up on one hip. If I weren’t so drunk, I’d probably be embarrassed, or maybe understand the look that was still plastered on Leo’s face, but I am, so I don’t. Instead, I say something that, again, if I were less drunk, I’d have the common sense to be embarrassedby. But the liquor is making me feel so good, so loose, and care so little, that I don’t care at all.
Hell, the world has seen more of me in paparazzi photos on the beach, and the truth is, Leo Sinclaire could see me fully naked and not care in the least.
“Can you tuck me in?”
He stares at me, and I hold my breath before finally, his gruff voice fills the room.
“Yeah. Lay back,” he whispers. I do as he asks, settling in as I try to ignore the stupid way my heart beats faster as he steps closer to me, then grips the ends of the blankets and slowly tugs them up, covering my body.
But he doesn’t just drop them when he reaches my shoulders. Instead, gently, nearly reverently, he tucks in the downy comforter around me, settling it beneath my chin.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding his eyes with mine and hoping against all hope that he understands. “For taking care of me.”
He stares at me for long moments, a soft smile on his lips, before he steps back.
“You look good in my bed, Will,” he murmurs, taking me in. A flash of something comes over his face, as if he isn’t sure why he said that, but he doesn’t take it back.
“You could stay with me, you know,” I murmur, and he smirks, then shakes his head.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I lift an eyebrow, tipping my head.
“But it could be a fun one.” That smirk turns into a full-blown grin, and I categorize the rare event into the recesses of my mind for a rainy day.
“No, Willa. Tonight, the couch is calling my name.”
“Killjoy,” I murmur, snuggling in deeper to his ridiculously comfortable bed.
“Kind of my job. Sleep tight, Willa,” he says. Then, shocking me, he shifts, bending down and pressing his lips softly to my forehead. They stay there for longer than I expect, long enough for me to close my eyes and breathe it in as I envision another world, another life where this could have been mine, where I really could have had it all. Finally, he steps back and away, moving towards the door before turning off the light and closing the door behind him without another word.
Lying in Leo’s bed, I toss and turn, my mind racing as I try to fall asleep and fail horribly.
All I can think about is his hand on my jaw.
Or the way, his eyes dipped down to my lips more than once.
On how it felt to dance with him.
Old feelings I’ve long since buried are surfacing, and in my drunken state, surrounded by the smell of Leo on his sheets, I can’t beat them back. He’s everywhere and nowhere, and between the buzz I’m still feeling and the mix of emotions moving through me, I don’t see sleep coming any time soon.
I needsomethingto get this pent-up emotion out. I’m not home, so I can’t write, which is always my first choice, and honestly, I don’t know if I’m in a state to hold a pen, much less use my guitar, so that’s out regardless.
The same goes for a workout: Pilates while inebriated sounds like a hospital visit waiting to happen.
But…the third option…the one that would also ease the throbbing between my legs…that one seems reasonable, right?
