11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Morgan
I can’t decide what’s happening here. Men are simple, pea-brained creatures who only want one thing. But each time Walker gets remotely close to acting on that one thing, he pulls back. He’s not actively pursuing me, but he also doesn’t want me to leave—his mixed signals are driving me up the wall.
“Stay the night?” I ask, genuinely curious about his intentions. “You know I have a 5:00 a.m. wake-up call, right?”
Walker’s face almost looks pained as he watches me from the kitchen, his hands clenching the edge of the counter. “No, Morgan, you’re going to call in.”
I feel my blood start to boil. “Says who?”
I’m not sure what planet he thinks we’re living on, but it can’t be this one. He doesn’t get to tell me what I’m going to do. There isn’t a man in the world who has that pleasure, no matter how thoughtful or vulnerable they are.
Walker pushes himself off the counter and stalks toward me. “It’s fucking dangerous out there,” he says, stopping a foot away and staring me down with his unreadable, dark eyes. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
Technically, he does have a point. It would be dangerous to try to go into the hospital tomorrow, and after the shift I had, I was planning to call in and tell them that I need a personal day. But that doesn’t mean he has to know that. I don’t want him to think that I’m just going to roll over and follow his commands. It’s not in my nature.
I square my body with his and cross my arms. “Then I’ll walk.”
Walker looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, frustration and concern etched deeply on his face. “Walk? On an icy street at six in the morning? You might be irritating, but I know you’re not reckless.”
I study him closely, unwilling to back down but also aware of the worry lacing his tone. “Look, I appreciate what you’re getting at, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been handling things on my own for a long time.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he counters, scrubbing his hand over his face and letting out a long breath. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I’m not sure why it matters to you . . .” I mutter to myself, though he clearly hears it because his eyes darken.
He lets loose an incredulous laugh. “I don’t fucking know why either. Maybe because I enjoy being around you, even though you drive me nuts. Maybe because you need someone tonight, even if you won’t admit it. And maybe I need someone too—a friend.”
“Friend,” I say the word out loud, trying to get its bitter taste out of my mouth. Suddenly everything makes sense—that’s why he hasn’t made a move. I’m being friend-zoned.
Walker winces almost imperceptibly, like he hates his delineation almost as much as I hate hearing it.
“I like you . . . when you’re not being annoying as hell.”
I snort. “Wow, such high praise.”
“You’ll get my praise when you earn it,” he shoots back, his voice lowering an octave.
I’m not sure if he meant the statement to be sexy as fuck, but something in my low belly flutters to life. I ignore the sensation and refocus on what he really thinks of me.
“Sure I will, friend, ” I taunt, purposely emphasizing the last word. “So what’s the plan then? Braid each other’s hair? Talk about boys? Cuddle in that big bed of yours?”
I recognize that I sound like a raging bitch right now, but that’s because I feel like a raging bitch.
He wants me to stay, but he doesn’t want to hookup and only has one bed. He says that we’re friends, but he looks like he’s going to devour me if he steps even a foot closer. He’s gentle and respectful, but there’s a carnal beast beneath the surface that I sometimes see a flicker of, and I just don’t understand why he’s fighting it by calling us friends.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. You take the master.”
I can feel my face twisting in incredulity. “I’m like half your size. I’ll take the couch.”
His eyes travel down the length of my body in a way that’s both disarming and electrifying. “Do you ever do what you’re told?”
“Very rarely,” I admit, enjoying the way his gaze snags on my lips. “But that’s part of the fun.”
“For you, maybe. All it does is piss me off.”
“Exactly,” I tease. “I’ll take the bed. Not because you’re telling me to, but because I want to hear you admit that I was right tomorrow morning when you wake up with a sore neck from sleeping somewhere that’s too small for your big-ass body.”
A small, victorious smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Good girl. ”
My breath catches in my throat, sure that I heard him wrong. “Walker Chastain,” I say, narrowing my eyes on his slightly amused expression. “Did you read the book I recommended to you?”
After I explained tropes to him a few weeks ago, I jokingly suggested that he read my favorite dark romance. While it’s possible he happens to have a praise kink, the deliberate way he’s staring at me makes me think he used the term on purpose.
“Would that get me another point in the like category?” he asks, taking half a step forward. The smell of his woody cologne floods my senses, rendering me momentarily speechless as my mind races to come up with a witty response.
“Only if you give me a book report.”
“Alright.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and goes quiet for a moment, pressing his hand to his mouth like he’s thinking hard. “It wasn’t bad. I can understand why you read stuff like that.”
“Not bad?” I gawk, blinking once. Then another time.
I spew bullshit nonstop, so the fact that Walker was paying close enough attention to not only remember my recommendation, but to read it, is genuinely shocking. And annoyingly endearing because it makes me like him even more.
So yeah, he totally gets another point . . . I’m just not going to tell him that.
“I mean, I can’t say I cared for the corrupt mafia surgeon, and a ton of it was factually inaccurate from a medical perspective. You can’t remove that many human organs and have the patient survive.”
I bark out a laugh. “Of course you would focus on that.”
“The other stuff was interesting though,” he says, leaning forward almost imperceptibly. He’s looming over me now, my back against the door and his broad chest inches from mine. “I learned what an anal hook was.”
My heart slams in my chest. “And?”
“Pretty damn hot.”
It takes a full minute for me to find my voice because my mind starts swimming with filthy images of us. I swallow harshly to reset and remind myself of what he said earlier.
“Well, it’s too bad that we’re just friends because ass play happens to be my favorite.”
This time he’s the one caught off guard, except rather than flashing with surprise, his eyes flare with something that looks suspiciously close to arousal.
“Too bad,” Walker echoes, holding my gaze for a second longer than is comfortable before he abruptly turns and walks down the hall. “Gonna grab you a sweatshirt for bed.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I call behind him, making one last attempt to rouse the beast within him. “I always sleep naked.”