“I know,” I reply with relief.
“Is she already in bed?”
“She’s sleeping on the couch.”
“Did you have a chance to get her a shirt or anything?” he asks after walking into the kitchen.
“No, I worked and came here.” I just explained my day to him. When would I have had time to shop?
“I’ll get her something for next week,” he says and walks over to the fridge.
“How early do you need to be at the stadium?” I make sure to keep my voice down.
“Ten. I’m going to sleep in,” he singsongs.
“Do you have everything you need with you?”
“Yep, I just need a ride.” He has a package of deli meat out and is rolling it up to shove it in his face.
“What should we do with Waylynn?”
“I can think of a lot of things I want to do with her. Be more specific,” he mumbles around his mouthful of food.
“Should we wake her up and make her go to bed?”
Oswald walks around me, heading out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Waylynn is still curled up on the couch. “Nah, she looks comfy, and that ass…” He takes another bite from the meat in his hand and makes an exaggerated growling sound.
“I don’t know who raised you.”
“Oh, that’s funny coming from you. What’s your name in her phone?”
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” I whisper harshly.
“I wonder why.” He pulls a face and heads back to the kitchen.
Waylynn
“This is starting to become a habit,”I murmur mostly to myself, because Memphis and Oswald seem to be sleeping. Neither of them stirs when I try to untangle myself from them. Oswald has a hold of my legs again, and his face isn’t in my butt, thankfully, but Memphis’ hand is woven into my hair. I can turn my head just enough to see the tiniest sliver of light coming in through the curtains. We slept here all night—well, most of the night. It has to be very early.
I rub Memphis’ leg, trying to get him to wake up, and he rocks forward a little, but that’s it, so I try to pull my leg out from Oswald’s grip. He draws in a deep breath that could be called a snore, then shoves my legs right off the couch.
I hit the floor with a thud, but the worst part is Memphis still has a hold of my hair, so I’m the one that ends up with my face in his crotch.
I freeze, praying he’s not going to wake up with me like this, like I was trying to take advantage of him, but that was apparently too much to ask. I know the exact second he wakes up, because he stops breathing—it’s not a subtle change. I give it another heartbeat, hoping I’m imagining him holding his breath, but when he stays silent, I peek up at him through my hair as the pressure on my hair tightens.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly.
“Too bad.” He blinks slowly a few times. His sleepy blue eyes seem to be having a hard time focusing. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Could you let go of my hair?”
The relief is instant, but he ends up pulling a few strands of my hair out as he tries to tug his hand free. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
I stay on my knees but tilt my head all the way back and push my hair out of my face. “It’s okay, it wasn’t bad until he pushed me off the couch.” I glare over at Oswald. His mouth is open as he breathes deeply without a care. “Sorry about getting so” —in your junk—“familiar.” That’s the only polite way I can think to phrase it.
“Would you get up from the floor?” Memphis directs me, even though he expressed it as a question. When I glance up, he’s rubbing both of his hands over his face.
“Sorry if I hurt you.” I know guys act like the world is ending if they get hit in the balls, and I just headbutted him.
