Chapter 13
THE ONE WITH THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER
REN
Not that I care.
Not that I’m at all bothered.
Annoyed, I roll over, raising my head to punch at the offensive pillow that’s obviously keeping me awake. I’ve tried all eight in the hopes there’d be one decent pillow in this overpriced hellhole, but apparently not.
Flopping down onto my back, I reach for my phone that I had haphazardly tossed onto the empty mattress beside me. It remains dark. No messages. No update.
Unlocking my screen, I open my chat with Cassidy, then stare at the same old aging conversation. I shouldn’t be surprised she hasn’t sent me any messages. It’s not like we do that sort of thing.
She’s probably too busy gawking at the fit young strippers to even think about me. All those muscled bodies, the young men who are likely fawning all over her not just because she has money, but because she’s the type of woman smart men fawn all over.
This time I throw my phone across the room.
Because this entire line of thinking is pure madness.
Not only is it stupid for me to be this worked up over something as innocuous as Cassidy enjoying a night out with her new girlfriends, but for me to then go so far as to talk myself into conjuring some duplicity on her part is complete unhinged lunacy.
And also, totally not my style.
What’s worse is I know how much shit she’ll give me if I so much as give her an inkling of my current batshit mindset. She’ll rub it in my face and mostly likely go out her way to make it worse, which will leave me with no choice but to remind her of where we are in our agreement.
Firmly and irrevocably entangled.
Not because I care what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with, but because we have a deal and there’s no way that deal will be manageable if she’s off frolicking with male strippers all night long.
Because I am definitely not jealous. Not even one bit.
Groaning, I contemplate punching myself in the face because I have obviously gone and lost my damn mind. Alternatively, I’m just entirely pussy drunk, a phenomenon I’d heard of before and always considered to be a huge myth.
The door opens with a low creak, and I freeze, glad I’m on my side, faced toward the door but away from her side of the bed.
Though I would enjoy watching her figure out the other bed is covered in enough random shit that she won’t be able to make use of it, it’s best if I can at least attempt to pretend I wasn’t bothered by her vanishing act.
The bathroom light comes on, the faintest of glows indicating she closed the door, but didn’t latch it. Water running, the low vibration of an electric toothbrush. Then darkness and the pitter-patter of her bare feet on the low pile carpet.
Silence.
No movement.
I strain my ears, wishing I was facing her so I could get a peek at what she’s doing. A low curse settles over the room, letting me know she was trying to sleep in the other bed, and is now realizing the futility of it.
A few more steps, then the mattress dips ever-so-slightly.
I hold my breath, listening to her pawing around the bed, forcing myself not to burst into laughter at the fact she can’t find a sheet or blanket because I stole them all.
“Goddamn it, Ren,” she sputters, her voice tired. “Give me some of the blankets.”
I feign sleep. I have no choice. To be awake and fully coherent would insinuate I had been waiting up for her, and I can’t have her thinking I give a single shit about what she was doing.
Or with whom.
She shifts closer, just shy of touching my back. She pokes her finger into my spine, and it takes every ounce of self-control for me not to react, but somehow, I manage to remain still.
She pokes me again, harder this time, then yanks at the blanket I have tucked over my shoulder. Tightening my hold, I curl in on myself defensively but remain silent as I continue to feign sleep.
She shifts around, but instead of poking me, she shoves her hand between my side and the mattress, effectively yanking the blanket free where I had tucked it beneath me.
A rather triumphant sound falls from her lips, but the triumph is quickly replaced by frustration when the blanket comes loose, but there isn’t enough of it there for her to cover herself.
Smiling into the dark, I listen to her cursing my name but then she stops wiggling around and falls silent, and I brace myself for her next move. I wouldn’t put it past her to put a foot between my shoulder blades and bodily shove me onto the floor.
But she doesn’t resort to pure physical violence, instead choosing to press her front against my back, one arm reaching beneath the blanket, effectively anchoring herself to me.
Her palm presses against my chest, her front presses more firmly against my back, and I have to stifle a groan as I realize she’s nude.
She shifts around some more, her breath against the back of my neck, her legs curving behind mine, moving some of the blanket so she’s at least partially covered.
Unable to reasonably pretend to be sleeping, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Well,” she responds with another exaggerated shift of her body. “Since you’re a blanket hog I’m just doing whatever I can to not freeze to death.”
“I’m not a blanket hog.”
“My current position proves otherwise.”
I don’t say anything, mostly because there isn’t anything for me to say, but mostly because I know it will irritate her.
“Come on, Rafferty,” she whisper-shouts, her hand on my front pulling firmly. “Help a girl out. I’m freezing.”
Ignoring her plea, I pull the blanket more tightly, attempt to roll further away from her as I respond, “That’s what you get for being late to bed.”
She laughs, but says nothing, and I can tell from the silence that she’s plotting something. I move to curl into myself further, but I’m a few moments too late, and the next thing I know her hand has moved from my chest to my dick.
My obviously interested in the nude woman squirming around behind me dick.
Her hand grips tightly and I grunt, “Fuck,” my body turning instinctively as she uses my appendage as a modified steering mechanism.
I attempt to use my shoulder and bent arm as a shield to push her back, but she manages to slip beneath it, her head coming up to rest on my shoulder as if I meant for her to do that. As if that spot and position is reserved for her and she has a right to it.
I make a half-assed attempt to extricate her from my person, but she doesn’t budge other than her hand on my dick squeezing then releasing, her fingertips brushing along the sensitive tip before settling on my lower stomach.
She settles in, one of her legs hooking over my thighs.
I turn my leg slightly, creating a cradle that stabilizes her position, my free hand releasing the blanket and coming to rest near where she’s stroking the skin just below my belly button.
Our pinkies touch, and her light stroking shifts to the back of my hand, then my fingers and back again, as if she’s learning the shape of me in the darkness.
I’ve rarely been in this position before, usually finding it to be suffocating and uncomfortable.
I haven’t had any type of significant romantic relationship since I was old enough to make a clear distinction on boundaries I wasn’t willing to cross.
Managing to avoid long-term relationships and the deep intimacy that comes along with them, was never an issue given my schedule didn’t allow for much, and I was always clear from the start on where each dalliance was going.
Nowhere.
But now, here I am.
Under a contract that has no mention of cuddling.
Annoyed, I consider forcing her onto her own side of the bed; however, I recognize that doing so would only highlight the fact that I’m uncomfortable.
Which would then turn into a discussion on why something as innocuous as warming up my future bride would throw me into a tailspin, a conversation I plan on having—never.
Choosing to do my best to fake it until I make it, I clear my throat. “I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight.”
“Oh it was a blast,” she replies, and I can tell from her tone she means it. Then she adds, “Declan’s family is a breath of fresh air.”
“Yeah, if you like the smell of stripper sweat,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I respond tersely, not even bothering to keep the petulance from my tone. “Glad you had a good time.”
She’s silent for a moment, her head tipping back against my shoulder, and I feel her gaze on me in the darkness. Finally, after a few quiet moments, she asks, “What is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” I respond far too quickly, my words not any less petulant.
“Liar.”
Forcing myself not to respond, I adjust my arm around her so she’s lying on me a bit more securely. Then I slowly lift my head from my pillow, turning my face toward her so I can get a whiff of her scent.
She doesn’t appear to smell like stripper sweat.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“No,” I once again respond far too quickly, though this time my tone is more feigned surprise than petulant.
So still quite suspicious, though perhaps not as telling as petulance. I adjust my body slightly, hoping she’ll believe my initial movement was just me preparing to get more comfortable, but from the tension in her form, I’m entirely certain she’s not going to let it go.
“Why are you sniffing me, Ren?” she asks loudly, “You’re gonna have to tell me because I won’t let you rest until you do.”
Groaning, I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter; it’s nothing.”
“Nothing, huh,” she drawls, her fingers now slowly tapping on the back of my hand. She continues to tap for a few moments and then stops. “I think we need to add a few amendments to our agreement.”
“What? Why?”
“To ensure we have honest communication at all times.”
“I don’t need a contract for that, Cassidy,” I respond, my hand moving from beneath hers to grip her wrist firmly, holding her in place as she attempts to move away. “But not everything has to be a thing.”