Page 53 of Dedicated
Evan:But he probably wasn’t wearing a fishnet shirt.
Chapter 31
Typical wake-up scenarios for Les Graves:
Hungover + way too fucking early
Hungover + way too fucking late
Somebody I didn’t want still in my bed still, in fact, in my bed
Cold shower + being flung in tour bus because… late + Evan angry at lateness
I had my first ever Disney wake-up the next morning. One of those where the sun streamed in through the windows, clear blue sky visible beyond the panes, birds fucking chirping with their chests bellowed out and friendly eyes on display.
Nix the last part. Fuck birds. There was a pair outside the window engaging in world war three and raising a holy ruckus. Nature lover, I was not. But the rest was true, and the best part was the man still in my bed, his face buried in the pillow, sleep-warm back exposed.
It was 9:00 a.m. He’d skipped his run.
It was 9:00 a.m., and I’d slept all damn night.
“What’s that noise?” Evan grumbled, his voice muffled.
“Birdageddon, part five million. There’s gotta be a nest out there because I hear them every morning.” I reached out, rapping hard a couple of times on the window beside the bed. The cacophony outside quieted for all of ten seconds.
“Maybe they should consider counseling.”
“Maybe someone should stick them in a cabin together. Let them duke it out in a confined space until they end up in a full-on fuckfest.”
“Duking it out?” Evan laughed softly and rolled onto his back, glancing over at me with a smirk. “Is that what last night was?”
“Duking, choking, fucking. Same idea. You started it.” But that wasn’t what last night was really. Last night was Cinderella at the ball, getting to dance all night with the prince without ever hearing the stroke of midnight. I’d be keeping that analogy to myself, though, since I could just see Evan using it against me for life.
Evan groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I did. I didn’t mean to; that’s not what I—but yeah, I did. I definitely fucking did.”
I rolled onto my side, studying him, that sexy natural pout, the sleepy gaze, looking for the signs of our own small apocalypse—a regretful expression, a tinge of fear in his eyes. “Is this the part where you’re going to panic? Let me know, because I can go make myself some breakfast or something, take a long shower, clean baseboards with a toothbrush, watch paint dry.”
He snorted lightly, turning to face me, and I slung my leg over his outer thigh.
“If I’m panicking, I think the correct response is to talk me down. Isn’t aftercare a thing?” He gripped my thigh and squeezed it once, then stroked the length of it idly.
“Aftercare?” I laughed. “It’s not like I had you shackled and was caning you into subspace, although I think I could totally be into that with you.”
“Pretty sure I’d be the one caning you.”
I shrugged one shoulder agreeably. “I’m in. Especially if there’s leather involved.”
We fell silent, and it wasn’t that the air grew thick or uncomfortable, but I got this idea that we were both suddenly very aware that we were lying in bed naked together, and very aware of how different it felt this time.
Evan inhaled deeply and made a face. “Okay, yeah. I might panic. Shit.”
I scooted closer to him, and he watched me warily, skeptically.
“Turn over,” I told him.
“No. Why?” He was getting cagey. I didn’t want that.
“Fuck’s sake, Porter, I’m not about to stick a knife in your back. Relax.”