Page 91 of Dark Little Game

“Why the hell is that thing open?” I say softly, nodding at the window.

“I like to sleep cold. The air is finally starting to get really cool at night.”

I shift on the bed.

I’m sitting up, and I cradle my head in my hands, rubbing my palms over my face.

“It’s like you’re asking to get shot in the neck with another dart.”

He snorts. “Not sure it’ll make a difference if I crack the thing for some fresh air.”

I puff out a breath of air.

The fear is finally starting to dissipate from my nervous system. I smooth out my hair with my palm, still feeling ridiculously childish for waking Rayne up like that.

“Just go back to sleep,” I tell him.

“Are you going to be able to fall back asleep?” he asks me.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Why the fuck do you care?”

“Damn. You’re a sourpuss when you wake up from a nightmare, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “Sleep paralysis is a lot worse than just anightmare. I don’t think my body’s going to be relaxed for a while, Colson.”

“Sorry,” he says again.

It’s the second time he’s felt the need to apologize for something tonight.

Rayne should be lashing back at me like it’s his full-time job to play argumentative volleyball with me, but he’s… softer tonight.

Maybe because he shot a fat fucking load down my throat earlier.

Or maybe because unlike me, he was actually getting some good sleep.

For a while, it seems like he’s going back to bed. He lies back down on his mattress, breathing evenly, sighing peacefully a few times.

I try to rest again, too, but I was right when I said that I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. I toss and turn, trying to keep the memory of the dream out of my mind.

The comforter feels too warm, but then when I toss it to the side, I’m too cold. I love the sound of the crickets but they aren’t working to soothe me to sleep anyway.

When I toss for what feels like the hundredth time, Rayne groans.

“Get over here,” he says, clearlyverymuch awake, still.

“Excuse me?”

“Come here,” he says, sitting up in bed again and patting the edge of his mattress.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m not kidding, Hunter. Get in my bed or I’ll tell your brother you can’t keep your tongue off my cock.”

“Not a chance in hell you’d do that. I had a bad sleep, not brain damage.”

I turn over in bed, facing the wall, away from him.

I hear him rustling on his mattress, and then the floorboards creak under his weight as he steps down.