I stretch experimentally, then wince as my backside protests the movement. The memory of his palm connecting with my skin sends a jolt of heat through me that has nothing to do with my cycle.
“Fine,” I say, aiming for nonchalant. “Aside from the bruises.”
“You earned those.”
He says it matter-of-factly. Like he’s commenting on the weather rather than the aftermath of putting me over his knee like a misbehaving child.
God.The memory alone makes my stomach clench.
Atticus’s mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. He sits up straighter against the headboard, adjusting the pillow behind him. “You want to soak in that tub? Might help with the soreness. Or I can get you something to eat.”
I push myself up to sitting, wincing again as my weight settles. The sheet pools around my waist, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m still naked underneath. Atticus’s gaze flicks downward for a split second before returning to my face.
If I wasn’t exhausted, it might be tempting to do something with that.
“I’m too tired to do anything,” I admit, pulling the sheet higher. “I feel like I could just lay here for an entire week.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
“I’m not that kind of tired.” My eyes close despite the words, lids heavy as lead. “My brain won’t shut up.”
The mattress shifts as Atticus settles back against the headboard. I hear the soft click of his laptop opening again, the quiet tap of keys.
I should rest. Should let the exhaustion pull me under, let my body recover before the next wave hits. But something keeps me tethered to consciousness—a restless buzzing under my skin that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the man beside me.
I crack one eye open.
Atticus has returned to whatever he was working on, those ridiculous glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls through linesof text. The screen glow softens the angles of his face, makes him look younger. More approachable. Less like a rock star and more like someone’s slightly disheveled boyfriend catching up on emails during a lazy morning.
The thought makes something dangerous flutter in my chest.
Hot professor,my traitorous brain supplies.He looks like a hot professor grading papers.
I need a distraction. Desperately.
“What are you working on?” The question comes out before I can think better of it.
Atticus glances up, one eyebrow rising. “Thought you were too tired to stay awake.”
“I’m too tired for moving. Talking requires significantly less effort.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, but turns the laptop so I can see the lines of text filling the screen.
“I’ve been fighting to win the lead role in this project for about six months now. The director just sent my agent the script so I assume that’s a good sign.” He scrolls down, showing me more pages. “It’s this musical romantic drama, but a remake of this famous film from the 1930s. The production is independent, but they’ve got solid funding.”
“What’s it about?”
“A musician struggling with addiction falls for a working-class girl whose career he helps launch. She surpasses him. He spirals. It’s devastating and beautiful and exactly the kind of thing that never gets made anymore because studios are too busy churning out superhero sequels.”
I push myself higher against the pillows, interested despite my exhaustion. “That sounds…”
“Depressing as hell?” He grins. “But sort of beautiful, too. It’sserious, you know? The kind of role that actually meanssomething. Part of why I took the bit part in your movie was to sell my ability to work on a screen instead of a stage.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to do serious work in movies,” I admit. “I thought the acting thing was just…dabbling. You know how athletes decide to start clothing lines or everyone puts their name on a perfume.”
He shrugs, but there’s something careful in the gesture. “Music will always be my passion. But acting lets me disappear into someone else for a while. Be someone without all the baggage of being me. It’s a privilege to have the chance to do that.”
I understand that more than I want to admit.
