Page 10 of Scarred Crown

Consider his buttons pushed, King George.

Now, he just needs to come back to his room at some point to see my masterpiece. I sprawl across the bed in a star shape in case the bed on the floor isn’t a strong enough message and let sleep pull me under.

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I wake to strong arms and hands sliding under my shoulders and knees. I’m momentarily disoriented by the dim lighting and the unfamiliar location. Then, I’m flying. I land with an oomph on the other side of the queen bed.

“Not gonna happen, Jensen,” Nick grumbles as he throws back the covers, hitting my cheek.

I leave the blanket across my face for a beat to orient myself. I was in such a deep jetlagged sleep, I forgot I flew to Tanzania to sabotage Nick’s escape from royal life. For the brief moment I was cradled in his arms, his scent invaded my senses, and I was transported back to when the smell of him brought comfort. Unexpectedly, an ache blooms across my chest. It’s been years since I mourned the demise of our friendship, but there it is, the remnants of grief swirling through my body.

No way I’m dwelling on that feeling when I fought so hard not to feel it the first time. “Do you mind?” I fling the sheets off my face to glare at him.

He snaps off the bedside lamp, already snug in bed, his broad back to me. “Not at all.”

Oh, God. Is he… is he shirtless? Didn’t he get enough naked cuddling with his conquest? “You threw me across the bed.”

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you shouldn’t have been in my bed.”

“I wasn’t about to sleep on the hard floor.”

“Then be thankful I didn’t throw you there instead.” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Just go to sleep. If I wanted to talk to someone, I’d have stayed where I was.”

“Oh, wonderful. You’re comparing me to one of your crown bunnies? We might be sharing a bed, but I am not having sex with you.” The words leave my mouth with more confidence than I feel, and my cheeks heat. Thank God it’s dark in here. Pressing his buttons used to lead to my embarrassment all the time when we were younger. Nick has no shame, and I have far too much.

“I really hate that fucking nickname,” he mutters.

“Yes, your cultural appropriation of harem was so much better earlier.”

“You’re relentless.” He chuckles.

“Not to mention the implication that the women sleeping with you are somehow slaves.”

He fakes a very loud snore.

I would hit him, but then I’d have to touch him, and I’m not convinced that’s a good idea. “You’re not sleeping.”

“Will be soon if you keep this up. You’ll bore me into a coma. Cultural appropriation. Slavery. I’m on holiday.”

“Those are not subjects you can take a holiday from.”

“Apparently. Funny, I was managing just fine before you showed up.” The covers rustle.

Is he on his back now? It’s pitch-black in here, and I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. With his back to me, I had the confidence to figurately poke him. Less so when there’s a chance he might literally poke back.

“Are you quite done?” His voice is closer, and I’m sure now he’s on his back instead of turned away from me.

“Quite,” I agree, and I struggle to get under the blankets since he threw me on top instead of placing me nicely underneath or even nudging me awake and asking me to move. Of course, I probably wouldn’t have moved.

He helps to lift the covers with a deep sigh. “You gonna be okay?”

“Why?”

“Obviously, you didn’t want to share a bed with me, but you also didn’t want to sleep on the floor. I’m not leaving the bed…”

“So, why are you even asking? It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

A heavy silence falls between us, and I curse myself for drawing attention to what we used to be to each other. The plan is to make him so desperate to get rid of me, he’ll return home early. It’s not to slice open my old wounds in the process.