Page 23 of Easy
‘See, I knew there was a reason I liked you so much! Get Sadie to call me when she resurfaces, would you?’
We say our goodbyes, and I toss the phone on the nightstand and stare down at the beauty in my bed for so long I feel like a bit of a pervert. The length of her spine and the swell of her curves. There’s nothing for it, though. She can’t sleep in her dress, so I lean down and slide the thin straps from her shoulders, slipping my arm under her waist to pull it down under her breasts.
‘This must be what it’s like to work in a morgue,’ I grumble, laying her down again when she suddenly twists, throwing herself onto her back. ‘Though, if a corpse did that, I think the workers might need a trolley next to the stiff.’
Speaking of which, I palm my semi, the results of the almost naked girl in my bed.
Pulling the fabric of her gown down and off her legs, I contemplate her naked form for a few moments more. You know, just because.
‘Sadie,’ I whisper with a slow shake of my head. ‘You’re enough to make a grown man get down on his knees. But that’s for another day.’ Eating out a comatose woman is statutory rape. Reluctantly, I pull the duvet from under her body and cover her with it. Her hair shines gold in the soft light, and as I brush the tangles from her head, I’m drawn to placing my lips on her forehead.
‘I hope you don’t wriggle too much in your sleep,’ I murmur. ‘I know it’s a big bed, but I have to warn you, I’m a cuddler.’
Switching off the bedside lamp, I straighten and head off to take care of Sir Lancelot.
Chapter Nine
SADIE
‘Oh, God. Why is my brain bleeding?’
I quickly clamp my eyelids closed again, holding my hands to my head, sure something viscous must be leaking somewhere. Eyes screwed tight, I ride the phantom roller coaster of nausea until it passes and I feel well enough to swing my legs out of the bed.
‘Bleurgh.’ A shiver wracks my body, and I wonder if my tongue would taste any better if I took it out, scrubbed it on the sidewalk, and then shoved it back in. Must be wine flu season because I feel like something Sir Lancelot rolled in. And I’m also naked. I never go to sleep naked.
And I mean, ne-ver.
Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I contemplate the possible reasons for my nakedness, deciding my dreams are responsible. My pleasant, drink-induced dreams. I was being spooned—I was the little spoon, content from the solid weight of an arm wrapped around my waist, and the manly hand tucked between my legs.
Wouldn’t that be something.
I stretch and decide I’m good to stand, quickly reassessing the situation as I wobble across the room—yep, still a little bit drunk—and swipe my nightshirt from the chair as I make my way to the bathroom.
I take care of business—pee, wash the crud from my eyes, brush my teeth, all without raising my eyes to the mirror. Hello, morning glory? More like hello, morning gory.
As my stomach rumbles, I shuffle my way into the open plan living room.
‘Too bright,’ I grumble, squinting and holding a hand up to shield my eyes.
‘Good morning, Goldilocks.’
A deep and regrettably happy voice stops my progress. I squeak—I might have even jumped. Hand over my heart, I wait a beat before speaking. You know, to make sure it doesn’t try to jump from my throat.
‘You scared the pants off me!’ I yell, pulling the hem on my nightshirt down because, no pants, and also because, from across the expanse of gleaming white kitchen, Will stands. Smiling like the cat that ate the canary, spindly gnarled legs and all.
The bright morning sunlight is kinder to him, casting his tan skin in a hue of gold. And alotof muscles. Not that he’s big—like, bodybuilder big—but he’s solid. I have a thing for manly shoulders; they make me all kinds of crazy. And Will has shoulders. Broad ones. And biceps for days. Not to mention, abs like an old-fashioned washboard. And, sweet baby Jesus, from behind the kitchen countertop, I think I spy the suggestion of a deepV. You know—thatV. The one that steals brain cells from bright girls. The one that makes you want to lick it like a Tootsie Pop.
‘Are you ogling?’ he asks, kind of delighted. I freeze, apart from the bit where I appear to be lowering myself back to my heels.Dammit. ‘It definitely looks like you were ogling.’
‘What are you doing here?’Apart from being the big spoon.But I don’t remember inviting him to stay, after we... after we... come to think of it, I don’t recall much about the evening at all. I roll my lips inwards to prevent my next burgeoning question. Unfortunately, it seems to happen the other way around. ‘Are you naked?’
Did that sound excited? It did, didn’t it?
He laughs, and in answer, plucks the waistband of a pair of low slung track pants.
‘I almost wish I was now, but hot eggs and testicles don’t mix.’
‘Just answer the question,’ I demand. ‘What. Are. You. Doing here!’
