Page 161 of The Path to Loving Him
I tell my eyes to look at his face, but hell is it hard to tear my gaze from his massive chest and the divots and contours that make up his sculpted body.
“You made it,” he says, breaking the silence thankfully. “Was it hard to find?”
“No, you made it easy. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He holds the door open wider. “Come in. I have your overnight bag in the bathroom so you can get ready for bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
Actually, I’m feeling a lot more awake all of a sudden.
“Thank you,” I say softly as I shuffle into the apartment. I take my shoes off at the entryway and take in the decently sized apartment. It’s typical, nothing too fancy about it. Ryland told me it’s a simple place that Hayes stays in when he has to come into the city for meetings or to record.
The kitchen and the living room are all one big room with large windows overlooking the city. There’s a tiny couch that . . . has blankets and a pillow on it.
He must see me looking at it because he says, “Oh, that’s for me.”
“That?” I ask, pointing at the couch. “You think you’re going to sleep on that?”
“Yeah, what’s the problem?”
“Ryland, that thing is barely big enough for your left leg.”
He chuckles and shuts the door, locking it behind me. “It’s fine.”
“It really isn’t. I can sleep on it. I’m much smaller than you.”
“You’re not sleeping on that. The bedroom is yours.” He gestures to the bedroom to the left with the large king-sized bed.
“Uh, why do I get the room and you get the couch?”
“Because that’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“Stop it,” I say as I walk into the room and grab my bag. “The living room is fine for me.”
He stops me, taking my bag from me. “It’s not.”
“Ryland—”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he says sternly. “So drop it.”
Shocked by his tone, I step back, only to watch the regret fall over his face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to be so harsh,” he says. “Just let me be the nice guy here, okay? I don’t want you sleeping on the couch. It’s uncomfortable, it’s short, and it’s not a place you should be sleeping.”
“Then why do you have to sleep there?”
“Because I’m used to sleeping like shit,” he answers without even thinking about it.
I tilt my head to the side and say, “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing we need to get into.”
“No, tell me,” I say, concern building up inside me.
He looks to the side, clearly uncomfortable, but to my surprise, he says, “I slept on the couch in Cassidy’s house for months on end, even after she passed. Sleep has never been a top priority. Comfortable sleep, it’s something I’m not used to. So yeah, I sleep like shit, and I’m fine with it.”
“Maybe you don’t have to sleep like shit.” I reach out and take his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom.
“Gabby, I’m not?—”
