I took stock of all that was visible from my vantage point.
Blankets: Check.
Ceiling: I’m still in the basement.
Movie room: That’s it. That’s where I was.
Where’s Bill?
Where’s Bee?
Where’s Mr. Beans?
I chanced moving my head, trying to see if I could spot anything more. Regret was a bitter thing when Nash’s hand on my back grazed lower. His chin, which had been cradling my head, moved.
A rumble, like a sleeping dragon, graced the air, another arm reaching under me and his other hand found the back ofmy head. It brushed over my hair to my neck and rested there.
Oh, shit.I was stuck.
He drew in a deep breath, causing my head to rise on an enormous wave.
I released the fabric in my hands, instead splaying my fingers and pushing away.
He only held tighter, a deep raspy chuckle filling the air.
I retaliated with more pressure, and the surrounding hold relented. Leaning back, my eyes found his very awake ones. There was nothing I could do but stare back, like a raccoon caught raiding the cat food. I was all up in him, curled in a ball and cradled amongst the expanse of his giant body.
I clambered away, and he grunted. I’d kneed him in the gut on accident—possibly the balls.
Bill, who had been curled somewhere behind Nash, popped his head up. The tag on his collar rattled. I ran my fingers through my hair, scooting even farther back and away from Nash. He didn’t move, still relaxed against the pillows. He watched me like a hawk stalking its prey.
His features were soft with sleep. Ruffled around every sharp edge, and masculine-looking. His legs were crossed at the ankle, an arm behind his head, and the other lying across his chest. His mouth was curled in a smirk, eyes half-hooded and unbothered.
The edge of his t-shirt rode up his torso, showing a peek of firm abs and the hem of dark boxers before they sank below his jeans and belt. Dim lighting made the entire moment feel more intimate. It was mortifying.
I forced myself to look away. He was toomuch, like staring at the sun. My gaze found Bee. She’d rolled all the way across the room to the base of the bar, curled against it. She had a leg stuck on a stool, an arm crunched under her. Mr. Beans balanced atop her hip, blinking at me with possessive triumph gracing his features.
I swallowed thickly, not wanting to look back at Nash.
“Um,” I began, looking at the ground to avoid his gaze. I searched for my phone among the blankets. Finding it, I shot to my feet. “I need to—use the restroom.”
Sweet escape. It’s all I could think of.
I took off toward the stairs. Bill leapt up to follow. Navigating each step, I made my escape. Once upstairs, it was a quick race past the kitchen to my room. I all but slammed the door behind me, Bill’s tail narrowly making it past the threshold. I clicked over the heavy lock for good measure.
Christ on a cracker,Sybil.
I was panting, and Bill was whimpering at my feet. The knob of the door steadied me for a moment before making a B-Line for the bathroom next. I closed that door behind me as well.
Walls; there needed to be walls between us.
Hand shaking, I brushed my teeth. It dropped into the sink a few times before I deemed it good enough and holstered it on its stand. Running my fingers through my hair, I felt flushed. In the mirror, my cheeks appeared blotchy.
I began pacing, fanning my fuzzy top a few times to invite in some cool air. My fuzzy socks were askew on my feet, one bunched and the other halfway up my calf. I tore them off, throwing them in the hamper so my feet could breathe.
My pajamas, smelling of wood and leather, taunted me. Turning on the shower, I stepped out of the pajamas of shame and tossed them in the laundry basket beside the socks.
Had I made things worse by running? My brain wouldn’t let it go, asking myself on repeat.
