I…
I’d been…
Felix had been…
Shit.
I fumbled for my phone and shut the alarm off, squinting at the too-bright screen to check the time.
Eleven minutes past seven.
Well. I could skip breakfast, or I could skip a shower, and I’d still be on time to assemble Mr. Brewster’s new bookshelves.
My half-hard dick warned me that I was better off skipping the shower. I’d had one last night, it probably wouldn’t make a difference.
I had a gap in my schedule today, I could always shower then if I needed to. Besides, Mr. Brewster was like ninety years old and a retired college professor.
And I couldn’t trust myself in the shower just now. Not if I still wanted to be on time for seven-thirty.
What the hellwasthat?
Bad enough that I’d pounced on Felix last night, but…
I shoved the thought aside. No amount of thinking about theliteral sex dreamI’d just woken up from would help solve any of my current problems, least of all the one where my fingers were tracing circles on my thigh.
No. Stop that. Work to do.
The last thing I could afford right now was to screw around, literally or otherwise.
Ignoring a little stab ofwant, I rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone on the way into the kitchen.
Last night, we’d sat and eaten pizza and watched TV as background noise while Felix talked about what he wanted to write next, now that this series was wrapping up, until he’d fallen asleep on my shoulder.
It’d been nice, and after the first spike of annoyance at being interrupted, I’d been glad—the last thing I wanted to do was anything either of us would regret.
Especially ifFelixregretted it.
I flicked on the coffee maker and grabbed my phone again, opening a new message to Felix.
Morning
A moment after I sent it, I wondered if I looked like an idiot.Morning? Like I was just… telling him it was the morning?
I wasn’t in the habit of mornings after, and I’d gotten the impression from Felix that he wasn’t, either. And this wasn’t even amorning after, was it?
Last night had been…
Confusing.
Clarifying, at the same time.
I knew there was a loose end here, and the urge to tug at it until it unraveled was hard to ignore. The feeling of being so close to understanding something about myself was like an itch between my shoulder blades—I couldn’t really scratch it by myself.
Wanna go for coffee later?
That was better. Nowmorninglooked like the greeting it was meant to be, and I was at least leaving the possibility of seeing each other again open. Was today too soon?
I wished now that I’d done more in the way of dating as an adult, but then Iwasn’tdating Felix, was I? Just pretending to.
