Ford’s gentle touch stutters, his rhythmic dance along my bare skin stalling.“Of course.”
The words are nothing but a breath, and I lift my head, peeking up at Ford in the dark room.“What is it?”
“Of course, my dad would throw money at it.Money fixes everything in his eyes.”He kisses my forehead.“Thank you.”
The same wrinkle hits my brow.“Not sure I helped much.”
“You helped more than you know.”He kisses my forehead once more, then scoots down on the bed, dragging me down with him.“Now, get some rest.We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”I yawn.“Work is gonna be rough.”
A rumbled hum of agreement hits my ear, as slumber takes me under.
46
JUNE
“Morning, sleepyhead.”A kiss hits my forehead, and I roll onto my stomach.
“Five more minutes.”
“Sorry, June Bug.It’s time to rise and shine.”
Rise and shine?It can’t be past seven in the morning.“My alarm hasn’t gone off yet,” I grumble into my pillow.And also, why are we having this conversation?
“Because I turned it off,” Ford announces.“It’s ten a.m.”
I jolt up.“What?”I fumble with my phone on the nightstand and check the time.“I was supposed to be at work two hours ago!”
“Calm your perfect tits.”He blocks me from running around the room like a chicken with my head cut off and sits down on the edge of the bed.“I took care of it.”
“Took care of it?”I repeat.“What’s there to take care of?Ford, I need to go?—”
“Give me two minutes.”
“Two minutes?”
“You’re already late, and I already told you I took care of it, so what’s two minutes?”he argues.
My eyes thin, but I will my body to relax.Besides, I am already late.Two minutes won’t make a difference in the big scheme of things, anyway.I’ll just…come up with a lie.Maybe I crashed my car.Maybe I was swept to the hospital which is why I didn’t make it to my shift.That kind of thing.Easy peasy, lemon squeazy.
Kind of.
I really hope I don’t lose my job.
When Ford stays quiet, I mutter, “You have a hundred seconds.”
His mouth curves up.“So, I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”He drags his fingers along my bare skin, from my shoulder, down the outside of my arm, then along the inside of my wrist before playing with my fingers like he did last night.Actually, like a dozen other times before.I’m pretty sure it’s a quirky tick of his, but I’m not complaining.Tingles spread outward from his innocent touch while I try to focus on our conversation instead of how good it feels and how easily it relaxes me.It’s like it has a direct line to my anxiety, and with a few sweeps of his fingertips, I’m disarmed completely.
“We never got that date,” Ford informs me.
My brows furrow.“What date?”
“The one I paid for,” he explains.“From the auction.”
