Page 27 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

Our eyes lock and then Nicolette’s drag down my body, hanging on the scar on my shoulder for a second.

Her brow wrinkles, but she doesn’t comment because her appreciative gaze continues its downward trek.

It’s almost palpable against my bare skin.

Without makeup, the pink flush coloring her cheeks is easy to discern.

Due to the confined space, I can smell her body wash, something fresh and light.

But something else joins the scent. Is that feminine arousal?

Apparently having an excellent sense of smell, my cock makes a resurgent effort in my pants, and I really need her eyes to not land that far down. So I say her name.

“Nicolette?”

She almost looks surprised at her brazenness as her gaze returns to my face. Her voice is a sweet rasp, laden with what sounds like desire. “Yes?”

I clear my throat and my dirty mind. “I can wear a shirt if that makes you more comfortable. I just tend to run hot when I’m sleeping.”

“So hot,” she breathes, her eyes making another dip to my bare torso. Then she catches herself and hastily replies, “No, you’re fine. I mean, it’s fine.”

Guess I’m not the only one overusing that word tonight , I think with an internal chuckle. “Which side do you sleep on?”

“Um, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Scooting over toward the wall, I slide beneath the covers, effectively hiding my hardening cock. Nicolette’s bare lips perk up on one side. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

A good night fuck, perhaps?

I studiously avoid looking at that creamy expanse of thigh when she props one knee on the mattress and leans forward to… remove my glasses. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed because, for a second, I thought she was going to kiss me.

Relieved. I’m definitely relieved because I know with one brush of her lips against mine, I’d have her beneath me in less than five seconds. And that would be a bad idea.

Or a fucking awesome one , my dick protests.

“How blind are you without your glasses?” she asks as she sets my frames on a small shelf mounted above the iron headboard.

“You’re a little blurry, but I can still recognize you from this distance.”

She places her own glasses beside mine, and I get a weird—but not unpleasant—feeling in the pit of my stomach seeing them side by side like that.

“I’m about the same,” she informs me, turning to switch off the light. The room is draped in darkness, but I feel the dip of the bed when she crawls in beside me.

Rolling onto my side to face the wall, I attempt to make myself as small as possible, which is no easy feat, given my size. I can’t see Nicolette, but from the sound of it, she’s lying on her back.

“Good night,” I say.

“Good night,” she replies. “And thank you for coming with me. I feel bad about the awkward sleeping arrangements.”

“Not the worst sleeping arrangement ever. I shared a bed with Phoenix until we outgrew it, and you smell a lot better than him.” That earns me a giggle, and I ask, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“If your sister needed extra space, why didn’t she put her stuff in this room?”

There’s a long pause. “Because it wasn’t mine.”

Rage rears its ugly head again, and I mutter, “I don’t like her very much.”

I hear Nicolette’s humored sigh. “I don’t either.” After a moment she asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you… I mean, with your synesthesia, can you see… my aura?”

I roll onto my back, and turn my head toward her, even though there’s no light seeping through the single high window in the room. “I can.”

“What color am I? Or is that too weird to ask.”

Unable to control my laugh, I ask, “I tell you I can see people’s auras, and you ask if your question is weird?” I feel her smile, even in the darkness. “You’re scarlet red, queenie.”

“Hmmm.” After that little hum, she’s quiet for a moment. “And what does red mean? I’m assuming you’ve looked this stuff up.”

“I have. It’s not an exact kind of thing and can vary from one synesthete to another, but in general, red means vitality and energy.” After a few seconds, I add on, “And passion.”

“Ooh, I like that one.” She shifts a little, and her arm brushes mine, but neither of us pulls away.

When I hear her breathing even out, I turn back onto my side to face the wall and drift off into my own dreamland.

Nicolette is holding my penis.

I repeat: Nicolette. Is. Holding. My. Penis.

She seems to be asleep and completely unaware that she has her hand on my cock, but my awareness is at the highest level. Thankfully she’s gripping me over my pants, so there’s at least a bit of fabric between us.

A ray of sunlight peeks through the dark curtains, casting a yellow sliver of light against the wall in front of me.

My internal clock tells me it’s probably six or seven in the morning.

Nicolette will be waking up soon too, and I know this predicament will embarrass her.

So I gently wrap my fingers around her wrist and attempt to extricate myself.

That only makes her grip me tighter, and I suppress a groan. This has officially progressed to a DICK-CON one situation.

I almost startle when a soft voice mumbles, “One corn dog, please.”

Did she… just…

Her hand strokes up and down my length as she continues to mutter. “I love corn dogs.”

Yes, yes she did.

“Is this a foot long, sir?”

Not quite, baby, but you’re not far off the mark.

I realize that instead of stopping her, I’m now guiding her hand as she slowly jacks me off, my hips arching forward for more.

Dear god, what the hell is wrong with me?

Inching my other hand down, I manage to pry her fingers from my shaft without waking her, though she emits a huffy protest and rolls over onto her other side.

A hefty sigh of relief pushes from my lips, and I perform a quite impressive sort of gymnastic move, launching myself over Nicolette and onto the narrow space between the bed and the dresser.

Grabbing my shirt, I slip it over my head and tug the hem down, doing my best to cover the very obvious tent in my pants. Looks like it’s time for another cold shower.

And then I might take Nicolette out for some corn dogs.