Page 36 of Hot Shot
At some point between the second and third episode we shift closer to each other, and Hunter’s arm comes around me, pulling me even closer.
My eyes start to feel heavy, and I have to fight to keep them open.
I should go to bed since it’s late and I was up at three, but I’m having a good time. I’m not ready for this night to end. One more episode can’t hurt.
Famous last words.
Chapter fifteen
Hunter
Myeyesspringopen,my heart racing. I take a deep breath trying to figure out what woke me up. Whatever it was, it’s probably for the best, I’m sure I would have regretted sleeping on the couch in the morning. Netflix asking me if I’m still watching.
Shit.
My eyes flicker around in the dimly lit room for the remote. That’s when I realize that I’m not even on my own couch and the weight against my right arm is Madison, asleep.
I’m at Madison’s. I guess the long week of travel and games, paired with the wine, caught up with me.
How long have we been out?
I glance down at her again, surprised she hasn’t woken yet. I grab my phone from its spot on the armrest next to me and see that it’s a little after midnight. I try to piece together how long we’ve been asleep for, but my brain is too groggy for math right now.
“Madison.” I gently shake her.
“Mmmm,” she mumbles, snuggling in closer, which makes me chuckle. How is she still asleep? She must be more tired than me.
“Sweets, we fell asleep,” I say, trying again to wake her.
The nickname slips out, and I hope she didn’t hear it because I’m not sure how she’d react.
Friends don’t give each other nicknames, do they? At least not ones that sound more like terms of endearment.
“Wh-what?” She sits up and looks around.
“Come on.” I get to my feet with a grimace. Yeah, sleeping on the couch was not a smart idea. “Let’s get you to bed.” I put my hand out and help her up. I shut off the TV and lead her to her bedroom, both of us yawning.
Yeah, my drive back to my place is going to be long.
I pause at the threshold of her room, not wanting to invade her space.
“You should stay.” She flips on the light next to the bed as she steps into the room.
“Excuse me?”
Madison wants me to stay here? She said it so nonchalantly, like when she asked me to stay for dinner.
I glance toward the living room and her couch. I’m tired, heck, I’m exhausted, but it doesn’t seem like a great place to sleep.
She turns around to face me, a pair of shorts and a shirt, her pajamas I assume, in her hand. “There’s room for both of us.” She gestures at her bed.
My brain short circuits, “I—What? Madison?” I scratch my head, shifting back and forth and glancing over at the bed.
“There’s plenty of room.” She steps closer to me. “I trust you. Plus you’re not going to be comfortable on the couch.”
“Are you sure?” This is crossing a line, isn’t it? I shouldn’t stay. Friends don’t sleep in each other’s beds.
At least I don’t think they do. I would never do this with Holt or Wes. Why am I even considering it with Madison?
