Page 38 of Rival Season
“Keep them on, Playboy,” she orders huffily, but I can tell she wants to smile—which means I’ve hopefully succeeded in easing some of her worries.
“I run hot,” I explain now that she seems more relaxed. “I usually just sleep in my boxers, but I wore pants tonight because you’re here. I can put a shirt on too if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay…” Her eyes linger on me for another moment, roaming over my shoulders and pecs. “You have a lot of ink.”
“I do,” I say, amused and intrigued by her eyes on me.
“Anyway,” she says, blinking suddenly like she just realized she was staring. “How does this usually work?”
“Sleeping?” I shoot her a grin, “Well, I’m not sure how you do it, but I usually lie down, turn out the light, and close my eyes…”
“Shut it, you smart-aleck.” She picks up a pillow from my armchair and throws it at me. “I meant, like, do you have a side of the bed you sleep on, do you sleep with a noise machine, do you have a nightlight or any ambient lighting that you?—”
“Hey, Hazel?” I interrupt her.
“Yes?”
“Don’t overthink it.” I pat the bed next to me. “It’s just a regular old sleepover between a fake boyfriend and girlfriend. And I know you already nixed anyfunny business,as you call it, but I’m open to any other kinds of business.” I wink at her. “Or pleasure.”
“You’re relentless,” Hazel says with a groan, but I don’t miss the way her lips twitch as she walks around to the side of the bed and pulls back the covers. “All we are going to do tonight is sleep.”
She slides into the bed next to me, and lies on her side so we’re looking at each other. Her curls spill over the pillow, and I can smell the scent of her sweet shampoo. A stray ringlet falls over her forehead, and without thinking, I reach over and push it out of her eyes. My fingertips graze the soft skin on her forehead as I do, and she inhales sharply. The sound stirs something in me that should definitely not be stirring right now, and I shift backwards towards the edge of the bed to give her as much room as possible.
“You okay?” I ask, fixing my eyes on hers. “Are you comfortable?”
I’m not talking about how comfy the bed is, and she knows it.
“I am.” She nods. “Thank you.”
“Good. Sweet dreams, Bubbles,” I say in response as I reach out to flip off the light.
“Goodnight, Playboy,” she says into the darkness, her voice a little breathy as she adds, “I cannot believe I am in your bed right now.”
I smile up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, her breathing begins to slow, but I lie awake for a while. My mind replays that sexy little sound she made when I touched her over and over until I finally fall asleep and dream of soft, freckled skin and chestnut curls twisted in my hands.
I wake up to a weight on my chest and an ache radiating through my torso.
“Mmph,” I moan as my eyes reluctantly crack open, putting an abrupt end to a dream I was thoroughly enjoying. Morning light filters through the blinds, and I look down in surprise to see that the weight on my chest is Hazel—at some point in the night, we must have shifted around in our sleep and found each other, because she’s draped over me…and the ache is courtesy of a very sharp, bony elbow that's currently digging into my ribs.
I reach over her and gently attempt to nudge her elbow out of the way. When that doesn’t work, I push a little harder. She lets out a big sigh in her sleep and her arm jerks straight out and then falls over me, curling around my shoulder. I breathe out a sigh of relief, happy her stabby elbow isn’t impaling my ribs anymore, but then she moves again.
“Mmm,” Hazel murmurs sleepily, snuggling her face into my chest. Her hair fans out behind her, tickling my skin, and I freeze, unsure what to do. I don’t want to wake her, but I alsodon’t want her to think I was taking advantage of her by letting her cuddle up to me in her sleep.
Luckily, I’m saved by Fisher, who pounds on my door. “Matthews, get your butt out of bed! We gotta leave in ten!” he hollers. Then, he chuckles. “Oh, and good morning, Hazel. Hope you slept well…or not at all.”
At the mention of her name, Hazel startles awake and tries to sit up, but her arm is still draped across my chest. She looks down, sees how close we are, and her eyes go wide. Quickly, she scurries as far away from me as she can get. As Fisher’s footsteps and laughter fade down the hallway, I yawn and stretch, feigning like him banging on the door woke me up, too.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” I ask, all casual. Like she wasn’t just lying on top of me.
Hazel rubs her eyes, then looks at her phone and startles. “Ohmygosh! It’s seven a.m.?”
I wince. “Sorry for the early wakeup call; we gotta be on the ice by eight sharp.”
“No, no, it’s just—I’m usually up at five-thirty. I start every morning with an hour of yoga. I can’t believe I didn’t wake earlier.”
I shift and roll out of bed, willing myself to think of anything that’s not Hazel doing downward dog position in tight yoga pants. “Well, clearly my bed worked its magic, and you had the best night of your life,” I say as I open my dresser to grab clean sweats.
Her breath hitches at my words. She looks over at me, all messy bedhead and heady-lidded eyes, andholy hellwhat I wouldn’t give right now for the opportunity to give her the best night of her life for real.
