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I’m almost through the door when she says softly, “Bishop?”

I look back.

“Thank you.”

Some of the tension in my chest eases. “Anytime, Laney.”

Then I close the door enough to give her privacy.

When she comes out, my shirt hits halfway down her thighs. Longer than her dress but still somehow sexier than the costume.

I put her in my bed because I’m not leaving her alone after she’s been sick. She doesn’t argue. That’s how I know she’s exhausted. I set water on the nightstand and hold out a couple of Advil. “Here take these. It’ll help.”

For the second time tonight she does as she’s told without arguing, then she snuggles down into my bed, her brown hair spilling over my grey pillows.

“It smells like you.” She sighs. “Cedar. It reminds me of the forest by Morgan’s Pond. I like it.”

My throat tightens. “Go to sleep, Laney.”

I sit against the headboard and wait for her eyes to drift closed. For a second, I think she’s asleep then she pushes herself up, her face just inches from mine. The smell of mint and vanilla surround me.

“Bishop, can I tell you something?”

“No.” Because I have an idea what it might be, and neither of us is ready for that.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” A sleepy smile curves her lips, then her gaze drops to my mouth.

I know what she’s going to do a second before she does it. Her hand lands against my chest, she leans in and every instinct I have screams at me to meet her halfway.

I don’t. Instead I catch her gently by the shoulders and watch as her smile falls.

“Let’s talk in the morning. Get some sleep, Baby Becks.”

“Right.” Something flashes across her face before she pulls away.

Fuck.

“Laney—”

“It’s okay, I get it”

“No. You really don’t. Please listen to me.”

She lies down and turns onto her side, putting her back to me. “I’m tired.”

I stare at her back. There are about a hundred things I could say. Yet, none of them are things I should say while she’s wearing my shirt, in my bed, after she’s been drinking.

So I pull the blanket over her shoulders and within minutes, her breathing evens out. I don’t move.

She tried to kiss me, and I stopped her. Not because I didn’t want it. But because I did.

That’s the fucking problem.

I wanted it enough that I’m still sitting here two hours later, watching her sleep instead of trusting myself to close my eyes beside her.

Darcy joined us an hour ago, because he obviously doesn’t trust me either.

I’ve already waited five years. I can at least wait until she’s sober.