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Don’t do it, my brain screams, but my dick is louder. My fucking heart is louder. I’m about to lean in toward her to do it when she shifts.
“Well, goodnight.” She turns to face away from me.
I’m tempted to be the big spoon and hold onto her, to shift my cock so it settles near her ass.
I don’t.
“Night,” I mutter, and I reluctantly turn away from her, too.
I try not to toss and turn since it’s a small bed that’s rather bouncy on the shifting, but she seems to be sleeping soundly.
I draw in a deep breath as I move slowly to my back, and I stare up at the ceiling as I try to process these unfamiliar feelings. Not only am I spending the night in a woman’s bed without having fucked her properly before we fell asleep, but I’m also going to be dating this woman—publicly, at least.
How the hell am I going to hold back from falling for her when every second I spend with her pushes me further and further in that direction?
The answer is less and less clear every time I ask myself that question.
And the boner? Harder and harder every time I ask that question.
Maybe I should just get up and rub out another one.
I glance at the clock. It’s a little after two, which means I’ve been lying here for nearly two hours trying to fall asleep.
I should go back to my hotel, but I can’t. I need to be here to put in face time with Austin Fucking Graham—and to take the pulse of what he’s doing with Ava’s best friend.
I shift again, and that’s when I hear it.
A yelp followed by a gasp from beside me. She sits up as she pants wildly, and then she starts to cry.
“Ava?” I ask, sitting up beside her.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she wails, clearly embarrassed.
“What’s wrong?” I reach over to put an arm around her quaking shoulders, and I pull her in a little closer.
She sniffles, and I reach my other arm around her front so I’m holding her in a side hug.
“It’s okay,” I say softly, soothingly. “Whatever it is, I’m right here.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says again.
“Don’t be. Talk to me, Ava.”
She draws in a shaky breath and sniffles again. “I, um…I sometimes have bad dreams. They started when my dad died.” She sniffles again, and I reach over to the box of tissues I saw on the nightstand when I first came in. I hand her one, and she blows her nose and sets the tissue on her nightstand. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” I say, my voice quiet and soothing. “I’m right here. Do you want to talk about it?”
She clears her throat. “It usually only happens if I have a drink right before bed, and even then it’s rare. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one.”
“How long?”
“Months. Maybe a year.” She reaches over to her nightstand, slipping out of my hold, and grabs a bottle of water. She gulps some down.
“Do you want to talk about what was in the dream?” I ask once she sets her water down. I keep my voice low and quiet, not really sure how to help her but wanting to do something.
“It’s the same one every time. I’m eight, and all my brothers are with their friends. You’re there, upstairs somewhere with Beck, I guess. And I’m in the kitchen with my mom. The phone rings, and she screams before she breaks down sobbing, and I know something’s wrong. She hangs up and ignores me and calls for Beck, and she tells him that Dad was in an accident at work and he died on the scene, and then Beck tells Alex and Oliver, and nobody tells me. Nobody talks to me. It’s just a rush of people in and out, walking by me, and nobody seems to care that I just lost the most important person in my world.” She draws in a shaky breath, her voice cracking at the end like she’s going to start crying again.
I reach around her and pull her into my chest, and she silently quakes as I wrap my arms around her. I get the very real sense that it’s not a nightmare so much as it’s reliving her reality. It’s a flashback to that day.
