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Her smile seems forced she nods and pats me on the shoulder. “Of course I am, just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
I don’t believe her, but I also don’t want to leave, not if she’s not feeling well and I can tell she doesn’t want me to go either. “Okay.”
I help her hop off the counter and we go to the couch; she grabs a blanket and turns on Netflix, she’s suddenly yawning and leaning on my shoulder. We settle on watching Free Guy, which I’ve seen a million times—never gets old though, so we hold hands and eventually, like a half hour into the movie, I’m yawning too.
My eyes get heavy.
Before I know it, I’m dead to the world.
I jolt awake when my phone goes off in my pocket. It’s Ambrose.
And it’s also like four AM.
Shit.
Ambrose
Did she kill you or are you alive or just dead via sex, text back, bro.
I quickly answer.
Me
Sorry, dickhead, I fell asleep.
Ambrose
I’m so disappointed.
Me
That I’m alive?
Ambrose
No, that you fell asleep mid sex.
Me
There was no mid sex, only champagne and a movie.
Ambrose
No action at all.
It feels wrong actually telling him something did happen, so I just answer that I’m tired and am going back to sleep.
Speaking of sleep, Chloe is nowhere to be found.
Frowning, I look down at the floor, did she lay down? Leave? Huh, I feel like I would have noticed, then again, I was sleeping so hard I was probably snoring like an idiot.
I should probably leave.
I start to get up when Chloe walks into the living room. She’s wearing a pair of short white shorts and a sheer black tank top that leaves literally nothing to the imagination. “Damn.”
It’s really all I can say.
Her hair is in a loose braid. “You fell asleep.”
