I wanted to kiss that cocky smirk from her lips. I wanted to turn it to lips parted in anOas she gasped and those eyes rolled back in her head. I wanted to hear each heady breath as it slipped from her lips. I wanted the curious way her mouth explored mine.
I forced the thought out of my head. Instead of indulging another fantasy of her, I snagged an anthology of poetry and sat on the far side of the couch.
Amelia wrinkled her nose at my selection but didn’t say another word as she picked up a thick book on the history of baseball and curled back up in her corner.
The space between us was for the best.
22
AMELIA
Sunday, May 25 | 3:04 p.m.
Jude was asleep.
Jude was asleepon me.
I didn’t know whether to be touched or absolutely terrified.
The gravity of the realization wasn’t lost on me. Jude was asleep and had been for the better part of three hours.
And Jude Greearneverslept.
Sure, he pretended to. But every hour, like clockwork, he would wake in a panic—gasping for breath—and wouldn’t go back to sleep until he checked the door, smoothed his hand over the floor where the cellar entrance could open, and made sure each window was locked tight.
The pattern always repeated until dawn.
Maybe it was hypervigilance. Maybe he was haunted. I had a feeling it was the latter.
Jude shifted as his breathing pattern changed. I waited for him to wake, but he didn’t.
Instead, he rested his head on my lap.
He had started on his side of the couch. After half an hour, he’d tilted his head, resting it on the back of the couch. Ten minutes later, his shoulder lowered. Then his eyes closed.
Slowly but surely, he sank down and stretched out.
I had never seen someone look so beautifully lethal. The intricate patterns of ink wrapped around his arms and hands, snaked up his neck, and crept behind his ear.
Given what I had seen when he was changing clothes, there were endless art pieces to explore.
And sweet baby cheeses, did I want to explore them.
I shouldn’t have wanted to. I should have conked him over the head with a lamp, grabbed the keys, and made a run for it.
But something told me to stay.
Long strands of light brown hair streaked with threads of gold fell over his closed eyes as he shifted on my lap, cuddling closer against my thigh. The soft breaths he exhaled through his nose made them dance.
Carefully, I brushed his hair out of his face and smoothed it back behind his ear, taking a moment to study the tattoos hidden there.
Jude jolted awake with a startled gasp. Dark eyes met mine, wide and full of terror. He opened his mouth to say something but simply moved his lips in silence.
“You okay?” I asked.
His eyes darted to the door, then to the windows. “What happened?”
What happened?Why did he think something had happened? Did he have a nightmare?
