Page 97 of Unleashed
“Neither do I.” I look over his face, the concern and worry I see there making my chest tight because I know it’s for me. “Am I a bad person if I say I don’t really care?” I drop his gaze, studying my fingernails. “That I’m actually a little relieved?”
“Nothing could make you a bad person, Maren.” Trevor’s voice is soft but firm. “You are the best person I know.”
I snort, because no one has ever said anything like that about me before. “I’m sure there’s a long line of people who would aggressively disagree with you.”
“Probably.” His fingers move to my hair, gently working through the strands. “There are a lot of stupid people in this world.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re not stupid for thinking I’m a bitch.”
“People earn their treatment.” He traces a path down my arm, linking our fingers. “If someone thinks you’re a bitch, it’s probably because that’s the version of you they deserved to experience.”
“I just don’t have time for bullshit.” The sleepiness I couldn’t find a few minutes ago settles in, making me yawn. “So I don’t put up with it.”
“I know. It’s one of the things I like best about you.” Trevor’s dark eyes search my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.” I rest my head on his shoulder, letting my eyes close. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t know your mom.” He tucks me closer. “Which is probably a good thing.”
“I don’t mean are you okay about my mom dying.” I snuggle into his embrace. “I meant, are you okay since my mom being dead means the people who broke into my trailer definitely weren’t there because of her.”
Trevor rests his chin on top of my head. “No. I’m not okay.”
“I figured as much.” I yawn again. “Life really sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”
A rumble of a laugh reverberates through his chest beneath my ear. “Yeah. It really fucking does.”
Another yawn sneaks free, and Trevor shifts in his seat. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”
I let him stand me up, then tug his hand. “You need to go to bed too. It’s late.”
I’m a little surprised when he lets me drag him along without a single word of protest. I know all about Trevor’s late nights and early mornings. More than once, Ruth has lamented how he’s going to work himself into an early grave, and Brooke has talked about his brothers’ concerns over how he burns the candle at both ends.
But tonight, Trevor seems as exhausted as I am as I lead him up the steps, practically shoving him into his bedroom. “Good night.”
I hear him chuckle as I continue down the hall to the room where I’m staying. After shucking my robe, I climb under the covers, ready to find that comfy, cozy, drowsy feeling from just a few minutes ago when I was tucked on Trevor’s lap.
I wait for it to reappear.
I wait a little longer.
I make it another minute before I’m flipping off the covers again and huffing my way down the hall. I walk straight into his room, not really shocked to find he’s lying in bed, stretched out with one arm tucked behind his head as he scrolls through emails on his phone. His damp hair falls over one eye when his head turns my way.
“Are you okay?” He straightens, the covers dropping down to reveal the full expanse of his toned chest and stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“You are what’s wrong.” I practically stomp toward his bed, grabbing the covers. “Scoot over. We’re cuddling.”
A slow smile curves his lips as he practically throws his cell phone to the nightstand. “Yes, ma’am.”
I slide between the sheets as he flips off the light. The room is so dark, I’m pretty much blinded, and give out a little yelp as a strong arm encircles my waist and tugs me back against a solid wall of warmth. “I didn’t expect you to be a cuddler.”
“Shut up.” I wiggle closer, closing my eyes as the heat of his body soaks into mine, relaxing all my frayed nerves in seconds.
The sleep that has been eluding me finally arrives, dragging me under. But not before I’m able to confirm I was right.
Trevor Bradshaw does have the world’s most comfortable bed.
When I walk into work, Brooke is already in her office, looking put together and glamorous. Like she always does.
