Page 77 of Beyond Question

I slept in a bed with Travis Wilder last night, and now I’m waking up beside him.

In all my spinning thoughts this morning my brain left that little detail out.

“Ugh,” I moan, “you’re too hot.” I try to push out of his embrace, but he tightens his arm again.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t a compliment. You’re suffocating me.” I push against his arm again and he finally relents, then I roll away from him and onto my back then take big gulping breaths, trying to cool my heated body.

It’s still pitch black in here, even more so than it was last night; Travis must have fixed the curtains at some point.

“What time is it?” he asks, words muffled like he’s rolled onto his stomach and smashed his face into the pillow.

“I don’t know. It feels late.”

The bed moves as he sits up. “Watch your eyes.” There’s a soft noise, his hand connecting with the switch, then the sconce on the wall turns on and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I open them slowly, allowing them time to adjust to the light.

“Paige,” Travis says, following the word with a groan. “You gotta put some pants on. A man has only so much self-control.

I yelp and jump from the bed, tugging my blouse but it only goes so far. “Close your eyes!”

Travis chuckles. “Baby, I had my whole face down there last night. I think we threw modesty right out the window.”

“Oh my god,” I groan.

“You said that last night.”

“Travis!” I whisper yell.

“Fine, fine.” He closes his eyes, then points to a dresser. “Looks like Rylan left you some clothes.”

I shuffle quickly to the dresser, trying to tug my blouse down and keeping my legs as close together as possible. He may think we threw modesty out the window hours ago, but this is very new to me and I feel… off kilter.

And a little excited, if I’m honest.

Memories of his head between my thighs have replaced my earlier thoughts and now that ball of dread in my stomach has something else beside it, struggling for center stage. Anticipation. Relief.

I lift the leggings Rylan left me and smile, then tug them on. Anything else, jeans or slacks, for instance, would have been too small for me, but these stretch, and I’m thankful for the comfort of leggings when my life is about to implode. I lift the sweatshirt she left and pull it over my head. “You can open your eyes now.” I turn around and Travis has a shit-eating grin on his face, which he quickly tries to hide but fails miserably. “You had them open the whole time.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes, Travis, I can. I told you to close your eyes.”

“But you already know I don’t listen well.” He reaches a hand toward me, then curls his fingers. When I reluctantly move closer to him, he grabs me and yanks me back into the bed, quickly curling his body around mine. “If I listened well,” he murmurs against my throat, then kisses his way up to my ear, “we wouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“What are we doing?”

He tucks his head against mine. “They call this cuddling, Ms. Matthews.”

I sigh. “I can’t. I have to get up. I have to…” I swallow hard, but he nods, his head nudging mine when he does.

“Can I tell you something before we get up and leave this room?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay, roll over.”