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“Okay, since I have your attention now, go try on these undies and these socks. Just that, nothing more. I want to admire what I bought my husband.”
Well, it’s the least I can do, I think as I grab the bag and disappear into the bathroom. For all he’s doing for me.
Those fucking seashells stare at me every night for an entire week, winking at me in the moonlight as I toss and turn on my uncomfortable mattress. I know it’s not the mattress’s fault, but nothing feels right. Nothing. I’m crawling out of my skin—it’s too tight for my body and I want to peel it off.
My gaze settles on the door leading out to the hallway, and I feel my eyes sting from not blinking for minutes on end. He’s out there, probably contently asleep in his bed. Not a care in the world. While I’m here being tortured to death, my mind a jumbled mess.
What is Coop’s motive? Why’s he being so nice to me? What does he want from me in the end? Is this all just a weird game to him?
I fucking hate it. Hate not knowing what he’s thinking, and feeling like he’s laughing at me behind my back. Probably talks with his friends about his pathetic straight husband.
It causes my dreams to reek of self-doubt, and I can’t get any restful sleep. This past week, I’ve been irritable and grumpy at work, the ring I should be wearing on my finger settled against my chest, slipped through a chain I picked up after we got back from Vegas. I don’t want anyone knowing my little secret.
I don’t want to have to explain.
But right now, in this sleep-deprived moment, that’s the furthest thought from my mind.
My tired brain just wants to sleep for once, just wants to doze off without a care in the world. I shift onto my side and close my eyes, my mind continuing to whirl.
Coop wouldn’t do that. He’s kind. He’s not laughing at you. It’s all in your head.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. A loud sigh escapes me, and I sit up.
I grab for my phone and pull up the email the PI sent me. I already read it all earlier, realizing there’s nothing in those documents that tell me more about Coop than I already know. He’s right. He’s an open book, and anything new I want to learn about him, I’ll have to figure out the old-fashioned way.
By spending time with him. And I can’t do that by fidgeting around in my bed all alone.
This is absurd. There’s an obvious solution, and I need to just do it.
With a groan, I stand up and move into the hallway without another thought. Enough is enough. I need to sleep or I’m going to lose my mind.
My bare feet slap the ground as I make my way to Coop’s room, pushing the door open without warning. It whooshes audibly, and I immediately see Coop propped up in bed with multiple pillows. His phone is hovering near his face, and when he sees me, he drops it to his bare chest.
“Hey there,” he says with a smile. “You okay?”
I don’t know what to say. What the fuck do I say? I don’t know the answer, so I say nothing. I just move toward the bed and crawl inside, facing him.
“Ah,” Coop says and then places his phone on his bedstand and scoots toward me, his knees bumping mine, his fingers reaching out and caressing my shoulder.
No more words are spoken as our gazes clash. He knows. He knows my secret, the one I won’t admit. It’s why he’s touching me right now, caressing me gently. It’s making my eyelids droop and my heartbeat steady.
“My poor Matthew,” he coos, and I scoff, even though my rapid thoughts are slowing and dissipating. “You can sleep now. I’m here.”
A disgraceful sigh exits my mouth as I pull his hand to my chest, keeping it against my beating heart, my tired, overworked brain shutting down one cell at a time.
And within minutes, I’m asleep.
I wake up practically glued to Coop. Our bodies are cinched together like a stitch, our legs entwined, our arms holding each other close. His face is tucked into my neck and mine rests on the top of his head.
I haven’t slept this well in ages. And I’m loath to move away from him now.
Unlike my ex, Coop seems to enjoy cuddling in bed, which is a relief.
“Morning,” Coop says, his voice raspy. His hand slides down my back and grabs my ass, squeezing it gently. It’s morning delirium making him do this, I’m sure. He’d never grab my butt otherwise. Not that I’m really complaining.
Honestly, I kind of like it.
“Morning,” I say as he arches into me, and I feel our hard lengths brush against each other. Just morning wood, that’s all, I reason as he groans softly against my neck.
