And in the blur of his just-woken-up memories of five seconds ago, he was pretty sure she was only wearing a T-shirt and underwear.
None of which he, or his dick apparently, was opposed to, but why, and how?—
Oh.
Right.
Mae turned on her side to face him, still snuggling aggressively into the comforter. She kept her body on her side of the bed, but he remembered it, then. How it felt to have her legs curled against his. The weight of her breasts against his back.
Gauzy light shone through the curtains of the wide window above his bed; he could tell from the strength of it that it must be at least late morning. His body tightened in anxiety at the wrongness of it, even as he knew that whatever rest they’d gotten wasn’t enough. He couldn’t bring himself to move, but he hated that the day already felt wasted. He was most calm when he rose with the sun. And?—
“Liv let the dogs out,” Mae said, “before she left a few hours ago to open the store.”
Dell tried to exhale slowly.
“Okay,” he rasped, the first word he’d spoken. He attempted to clear his throat. His eyes roamed past Mae’s shoulder, saw her leggings, skirt, bra folded on top of his dresser.
“They’re okay,” she reiterated. “Everything’s okay.”
His eyes narrowed, flashed back to hers at the way her voice had turned soft. He didn’t want her pity. But then…
God, even if they weren’t technically touching anymore, staring at each other face to face like this, in the light of day, felt a hundred times more intimate.
He shifted onto his back, escaping her gaze.
She had come back with him last night. Had stayed with him. Without question or protest.
Mae deserved answers.
He sighed. “I suppose we should talk about some things.”
“Only if you feel ready to talk.”
Dell contemplated this as he studied the ceiling. And concluded, once his brain grew more awake—somewhat to his own surprise—that maybe he did feel ready. As ready as he’d likely ever feel, at least.
“Yeah. I can talk.”
“In that case…” He heard Mae’s intake of breath, felt her slow exhale make its fluttery way to the side of his neck. “Do you want to tell me about your fisherman first? Or why the gun shots triggered you?”
Dell closed his eyes.
“Mm,” he mumbled. “So many great choices.” But then he opened his eyes, turning his head toward her. “Wait. They were definitely gunshots? And you heard them, too?”
She nodded against the pillow, holding his gaze. Damn, her eyes were pretty.
“Yeah. They were, and I did.”
Dell returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“Thanks. It makes me feel…less crazy. To know that. Even if I know I’m not crazy. And that I shouldn’t use that term.” He sighed again. “Fuck.”
“Dell.” Her voice was serious, almost reprimanding. “You can explain your story to me using any language you want. It’s your story. I’m not going to judge.”
Dell wiped a hand over his face, gusting a breath onto his palm.
And then, almost without his conscious decision, the words just…came out.
“There was a break-in. A home invasion.” His hand flopped to the comforter. “My old house, in Portland, someone broke in. In the middle of the night. I was sleeping.” A pause. “I lived alone.”
