Both?
“I mean it.” I collect my bearings.
Damon eyes me with a wily expression before he moves to leave.
I should not have let him kiss me. I should not have kissed him back. It’s going to send mixed signals. Spin the whole situation on its head like it’s in a blender.
Damon scoops up the cash he tossed onto the bed. He must have dropped it right before he grabbed both my ass cheeks.
“I thought you said there was no ‘us’?” He methodically situates each of the hundred-dollar bills in the same order. Face up, corners matching.
“There isn’t.”
“Hmm.” He continues to focus on the money. “You sure? ’Cause it kind of seems like there is.” He slides his steely-blue eyes up to mine. “It kind of seems like you can’t resist me.”
I just stand there shaking my head. “Good night, Damon.”
He smiles, annoyingly so. “’Night, Livey.”
I watch him leave the room, fighting to keep all my warring feelings in check.
Once I’m alone, I face plant into the pillow, exhausted, frustrated, and a fucking mental mess.
11
Damon
I’m rudelyawoken by the jackhammering noise of Knuckles snoring. Again.
I smother myself with the pillow in an attempt to drown him out, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works. The man is the kryptonite of sleep.
I peek at the old-ass wall clock and it reads 7:58 a.m. I have barely been asleep for three hours.
This is never going to fly. I can’t walk around like a zombie and expect to get anything done, especially be on my A game at the tables.
I make an executive decision.
Throwing the scratchy covers off, I leave the room. I’m not even quiet about it. Chainsaw Charlie has no idea. An earthquake couldn’t wake him up.
I click the adjoining door closed quietly to avoid waking Liv. Her, I’d rather not disturb.
Her room is a tad more peaceful, but you can still hear Knuckles through the paper-thin walls. But at least they add a muffled barrier.
I slide into bed with Liv, loving how the pillow has picked up her floral scent.
I inhale sharply as I melt into the mattress. My eyes are barely closed when I hear, “Damon? What the hell are you doing?”
“Going to sleep,” I straight-up answer.
“Why aren't you in your own bed?”
“Because my room is being occupied by the Terminator of sleep.”
“What?”
“Listen.” We both pause, and the brief silence presents my case. Knuckles’ snoring penetrates the wall. “I can’t sleep with that.”
“Well, you can’t sleep here.”
