I brace, hoping she’ll sprawl over me. If I’m perfectly still, I might avoid a zap. But it doesn’t happen. Her breathing evens out.
Shooting my load all over her bra did not remotely ease this need inside me.
26
BAILEY
I’m snuggled up with Jase. Gosh, he’s warm. And he smells so...yum.
I rub my face across his chest like a kitty cat.
Wait. No. Not dreaming!
I’m snuggled up to a sleeping Jase, and I’m a little dizzy; I might be still a little drunk.
My arm is draped over his washboard abs, my leg cocked over his thick, muscled thigh, and immediately my heart is doing a backwards somersault as I roll away. Unfortunately, I accidentally roll too far and land on the hardwood floor.
Ow!
I manage to suffer in silence, not wanting to wake the sleeping alpha. On the table beside the bed, I see a glass of water and two green gelcaps. Parched, I shakily reach for them. Not cold but not quite tepid, and actually… just perfect. I’m surprised he even has pills here. Not like typical shifters get hangovers. Or if they do, they just shift a couple times and they’re right as rain.
I’m a little breathless by the time the glass is empty. I slip out of the bedroom, rubbing my sore rump with one hand while feeling my way to the bathroom with the other, leaving the light out because with the way my head feels, I do not need light shining in my eyes.
After using the facilities, I creep along the wall until I’m looking at him again. Ready to crawl back in, I find he’s moved oversome, leaving me even less room, so I opt for the other side of the big bed and sink into an incredible cinnamon-ish scent I refuse to think about, immediately passing back out.
***
I wake up alone and miraculously, feel normal. Well, as normal as I can feel waking up in Jase’s bed while wearing one of his shirts, which has happened at least four million times in my fantasies.
Those pre-dawn ibuprofen gelcaps sure understood their assignment. Under different circumstances, I might appreciate Jase’s thoughtfulness of leaving those pills and that water for me.
My stomach rumbles as food scents drift into the room.
Bacon. Pancakes.
I rush to the bathroom and close the door, use the facilities, and then open the medicine cabinet, finding typical guy medicine cabinet stuff. And… yes! A brand-new purple toothbrush as well as a fresh bottle of unscented ladies’ facewash. I inwardly sing Valerie and/or Taylor’s praises.
Memories of last night wash over me as I lather up my face.
Gwendolyn Creed wrapped her arms around me with a bigcongratulationsand watched my face drop before she waved dismissively, saying, “I know how it is. Everyone knows. But you’ll work it out and I’m stoked that you’re part of my family.”
I didn’t respond to that but soon forgot the awkwardness when she just joined in and partied with us, not bringing Jase’s name up again.
Jase’s youngest sister is three or four years younger than I am and never ganged up with Sherry on me. We didn’t really hangin the same circles as she was outdoorsy and I’m bookish, but she’s never been anything but pleasant.
Gwen and Sherry never seemed to get along. I probably haven’t even had a conversation with Gwen in a couple years, particularly since she went away for four years for school. Jase’s older sister Taylor, a few years older than him, has always been kind to me. She has five feral free-range kids ranging from Evander at nineteen to Lottie at just four and is crazy-busy with them but still manages to help with pack events for children as well as many library events. Of the Creed family, it’s just Sherry who went out of her way to tease and belittle me, especially about Jase.
But like Stacy suggested, I should talk to Sherry about my petition. Her victim impact statement could help the cause, and it could help her emotionally, too.
Speaking of which, I need to get on all that stuff. Tick tock. I avoid the natural inclination to panic at the fact that tomorrow at five-thirty I’ll either get a longer reprieve, or it’ll be open season with a target on my back (and other parts of me that Jase is currently interested in).
I find last night’s clothes on the back of the bathroom door and quickly dress, hanging Jase’s shirt on the hook, not letting myself think about how it felt to put it on. He gave it to me with the scent of dryer sheets, but I could smell him just as strong as that outdoor fresh scent. He’s had this shirt quite a while, so I’ve got memories of him while he wore it, memories of before and after he started being so dismissive of me. I push the thoughts away and descend the staircase, finding my purse on the little table inside the door where Jase and the other guys have all dropped their keys in the past. Only Jase’s keys sit there now beside my bag. My shoes are on the floor beside Jase’s, whichgives me pause that I refuse to let seep in. Because they look so strange lined up beside his.
Despite the fact that I know he’s in the kitchen cooking bacon and pancakes, I slip my shoes on, put on my bag, and slip out.
Jase’s scent is all over me. It’s almost like I’m walking in a Jason-scented cloud. His usual scent has a slightly new sort of spicy kick to it. I can’t place it…
I stumble a little but catch myself before I completely roll my ankle. What was I thinking wearing these shoes last night? There are blisters on my feet from the walk to Roxy’s and they’re a little muddy from the few minutes I had them on in the rain last night before Jase gave me that piggyback.