“Timer starts now.”
Hellfire.
Chapter Eleven
Dating a man for less than a month is not a relationship. It’s a free trial.
- Gwen Goode, unsubscribing
Two minutes felt like two years as I lay in the dark, waiting for him to return. His king-sized bed was ridiculously comfortable, the duvet a brushed beige linen, the mattress itself a perfect balance of firm and feather-soft. Despite this, I couldn’t relax. I stared up at the ceiling, heart racing like I’d just run a marathon. The small clock on the bedside table read 3:46AM in glowing white numbers. Now that the fire had completely burned down to embers, it was the only source of light besides the shafts of moonlight that slanted in through the skylight directly overhead.
My pulse spiked when I heard the soft click of the bathroom door, followed by the steady patter of bare feet crossing the loft. Through the kitchen. Around his office area. Past the sofa.
Wait.
Pastthe sofa?
As in… he isn’t planing tosleepon said sofa?
The footsteps kept coming and, seconds later, a shadowy form rounded the partition and entered the sleeping alcove. Graham walked directly to the other side of the bed, pulled back the duvet, and slid in beside me without a flicker of hesitation.
I jerked the covers up to my chin. “What are you doing?”
“Playing soccer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Hilarious. I mean what are you doinghere? In this bed?”
“It’s my bed.”
“Aren’t you planning to be a gentleman and crash on the couch?”
“Nope.” He shifted against his pillows, glancing over at me with one hand propped behind his head. “I’ve never been much of a gentleman.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
“Finally, she compliments me.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. It was an insult.”
“No walking it back now. You’ve admitted I have at least one admirable trait.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Now, shut the hell up and close your eyes. It’s four in the morning and my alarm is set to go off at six-thirty.”
“Makes sense,” I muttered. “The antichristwouldwake at such an ungodly hour.”
He chuckled lowly but said nothing else. Clearly, he was done talking. I listened to him shifting around on his side of the bed — which, thankfully, was so spacious, there was no chance of limbs tangling awkwardly in the night — as he found a comfortable sleeping position. After a few minutes, his breathing began to level out as he drifted off.
I continued to stare up at the skylight, unable to sleep despite the deep exhaustion crashing through my system in relentless waves. The moon was clearly visible, a luminous orb peeking through the sparse clouds. It was still almost full and seemed abnormally close to earth, twice its normal size.
“Fun fact,” a drowsy voice said from the other side of the bed. “When your eyes are open, you aren’t sleeping.”
“Really?” I gasped. “I had no idea.”
“Go to sleep, Gwen. I mean it.”
I rolled onto my side to properly glare at him. “I know you love giving orders, but I’m so sorry to disappoint you—”
“Doubt that.”
“—you can’t physically order me to fall asleep. It’s impossible. Unless you’re some sort of hypnotist.”