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It’s something more. His thoughts are…a mess.
“You want to talk?” Then a yawn splits my face.
He shakes his head and pats my shoulder. “You need to go back to bed. You’re exhausted.”
“I haven’t slept yet, Dave.”
“You just yawned.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t exhausted. Fatigued. Completely tired. But sleep isn’t coming.”
“Maybe I would like to talk,” he says, “but it can wait until morning. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”
I nod. “You can sleep in Brianna’s bed if you want. Or you can sleep with me. Whatever you choose.”
“What do you want?” he asks.
I shrug, trying to appear noncommittal. “I want what you think is best for you. You’re obviously shaken up, and if you think it would help to have sex—fuck, whatever—then let’s do it.”
He raises a hand in front of him. “I don’t want you to think?—”
I hold out my hand to stop him again. “David, trust me. I think nothing. I am not harboring any hopes on any of this. Believe me, I know better. Just because all of my siblings have snagged a Steel doesn’t mean I have any hopes of doing the same. I like having sex with you. We have good chemistry in bed, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. I have absolutely no expectations.”
He smiles then.
Fucking smiles!
“What the hell, Dave? You think that’s funny?”
“No, of course not. I’m smiling because…”
“Why? Spit it out.”
“I’m smiling because I was going to say that I don’t want you to think that I’m using you as an escape. Because that’s not what this is about. If I wanted an escape, I could go back down to the bar and pick up one of the two French women who came on to me before Jesse arrived. One was actually named Gigi. Can you believe that?”
I gulp. “What was the other’s name?”
“Simone.”
“And were they beautiful?”
“Yes, both blond and both beautiful.”
I gulp again. Blond and beautiful, so why would he want my plain brown hair?
He shrugs and continues. “But I’m not there. If all I wanted was to sink my cock into a willing pussy, I could be doing it, Maddie. So if I go to bed with you tonight, it’s not just an escape.”
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing emerges.
In truth, I don’t know what to say. I’m glad that it’s not some escape. But he could mean that he’s just seeking solace in the arms—and body—of a friend. A person who understands what he’s been through tonight.
Maybe that’s how I should think about this as well.
I purse my lips. “So you’re saying I’m more than just a fuck.”
“Absolutely,” he says. “You’re more than just a fuck.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
