Page 127 of My Unhinged Alphas
His silence is answer enough.
The room hums quietly around us. Air conditioner. The old building settling. A car passing somewhere outside. The ordinary sounds make this feel stranger, not less, like we’re having the wrong conversation in the wrong place and somehow that’s the only reason it can happen at all.
I tuck the blanket tighter around myself. “Do you always carry it around like that?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No defense.
I let out a slow breath. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
There’s something about the way he says it that gets under my skin. Not dramatic. Not looking for pity. Just true.
I stare into the dark for a second, then say, “I dreamed about all three of you.”
That gets him to turn his head. I can feel it more than see it.
“I figured,” he says.
I narrow my eyes even though I know he probably can’t tell. “How exactly did you figure that?”
“You woke up breathing like you’d been running,” he says. “But you weren’t scared.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “That is wildly annoying,” I mutter.
“What is?”
“That you noticed that.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I notice a lot.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve gathered.”
Another pause.
Then, because apparently the dark makes me reckless, I add, “It wasn’t a bad dream.” I stare at the outline of him. “You don’t have to say anything incredibly noble in response to that.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
A beat passes. Then another.
Finally he says, “I shouldn’t ask.”
“But you want to.”
“Yes.”
I shift a little, blanket rustling softly. “That’s not very priestly of you.”
“I told you,” he says, voice low. “I’m not the priest.”
I look at the ceiling again because it’s easier than looking at him while I say the next part. “It was you first.”
He doesn’t speak.
