Hell, maybe I’ll make that change tomorrow.
Tonight I’ll sleep on his couch so I’m across the hall from her. I should have thought of that sooner.
But once we step inside, I remember why it wouldn’t have occurred to me earlier. It’s the most basic rodeo bro room imaginable, and it smells vaguely of Axe body spray.
“Could be worse,” I mutter. “But it could be better.”
“It’s fine,” she whispers as she curls up on the oversized leather loveseat that my brother squeezed into the window nook so he could play video games on the big screen across the room.
I wrap my blanket around her, very aware of her tucking her bare legs into it.
“I like you better in my shirt,” I murmur as I tug on the sleeve of the tee she’s wearing tonight.
She plucks the shirt away from her body. “Whose was this?”
“Not sure. Maybe Dax’s.” I have to swallow back the possessive suggestion that I want her to take it off. I’ll give her the shirt off my back instead. But we’re not anywhere near taking our clothes off together, not even to put different ones back on.
So I settle for sitting next to her and tugging herinto my side and wrapping my fingers around her bare arm.
“Come here, City Girl,” I say softly.
She comes, and folds herself in against my side, tucking her legs up, pressing her cheek to my chest. Her hand rests lightly on my stomach and I have to close my eyes for a second because of what it does to me.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
I press my lips to the top of her head. “This is the best I’ve felt in a long time.”
“Me too.” She exhales, and I feel her whole body unspool against mine. “I didn’t know I could feel like this.”
Something twists hard in my chest.
I pull the blanket up around her. “Then let’s just enjoy it.”
She smiles and closes her eyes.
“Sleep if you want,” I murmur. “I’ll wake you before it gets too late.”
“Just for a minute,” she mumbles into my shirt. “Just?—”
She’s out before she finishes the sentence.
I sit there with the most beautiful woman in the world asleep against my chest, and I don’t reach for my phone. I don’t turn on the TV. I don’t do anything to disturb the miracle of her trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
She must have been so fucking tired.
No shit. She’s pregnant.
The reminder feels like a tackle out of nowhere, not that I forgot, of course. But more like the detail has been waiting all day for a moment of stillness to bowl me over with shock again.
Because I cannot fathom how fucked upsomeone would have to be to be angry about that fact.
He attacked her. Punched or kicked her in the fucking stomach.
She was right to run. And she’s fucking brave to fall asleep on me right now. But she also needs this sleep desperately.
I brush a strand of hair off her cheek, and she doesn’t move a muscle.
“Gonna give you my name, Hope,” I murmur. “Can’t believe I didn’t know you a week ago, and here you are, turning me inside out with how much I want to keep you safe and make you mine.”
