20. Paige
20
Paige
W hy am I in Upstairs Closet?
Wasn’t I just in my bed, asleep?
I only had one beer at the bar earlier. Or was that twelve months ago?
Time is not computing.
I’m staring at rows of clothing organized by sleeve length and bins with exercise equipment in them. If I get closer, I’m sure I’d find the Thigh Master 3000 I put in there last week, but I’m too scared to check.
I don’t know how I got here.
Why am I here in the middle of the night?
And when I look down at the oversized T-shirt and flannel shorts I put on before bed, I gasp. Why am I at work in my pajamas? I quickly scan the rest of the store to find any other sign of human life, but no one is there.
It’s just a dream .
“Hi, Paige.”
I snap my head up, whipping around to see, “Rhodes.”
My mouth is slack, and a cool sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. Didn’t he just drop me off at my house? What…happened? And why is he looking at me like that? With hearts in his eyes and a sultry grin on his lips .
He steps closer and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
Well, okay. “Hi.”
I’m rooted to the spot. The shelf stacked with cords, keyboards, and monitors blink to life behind me, pulling my eyes to the blue screens. But when I look back, Rhodes is shirtless.
Wait.
He wasn’t shirtless before.
It’s like I blinked, and he lost it.
I blink again, and now he’s not wearing jeans. He’s in black briefs that—
Snapping my eyes back to his face, I widen them so he stops stripping. “Am I dreaming?”
He shrugs a shoulder, eyes lowered and unwavering. “Are you?”
That’s not helpful.
I squirm under his gaze and then pinch my forearm, but it does no good. I’m still here with an almost naked Rhodes. But then I accidentally blink again, and I refuse to look down. I know what I’ll find or what I won’t.
Damn. I hope he only lost his shoes .
He steps closer, and this time, I question whether I’m really dreaming since his features are identical to Real Rhodes. The shadow of scruff along his jaw he likes to leave until the last possible second, and how his hazel eyes see more than what most would at first glance. They go deep to a cellular level, not allowing you to hide. They’re boring into me.
Am I still wearing…
I clutch at my chest and sigh with relief when I feel the soft cotton still on my body.
I swallow hard and scramble backward, bumping into the shelf at my back. “You’re not Rhodes. ”
Not Rhodes lifts his brows. “I’m not?”
I shake my head. “Rhodes wouldn’t be…” I look down at his bare chest and stop myself when I realize the elastic of his briefs is no longer there, “naked.”
He throws his head back with a laugh, then grips the shelf beside my head.
My body is so rigid as I hold my breath and close my eyes, counting sheep backward from one hundred in case this helps.
It doesn’t.
He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. This is becoming far too intimate. Too vulnerable, like he can see the bones inside my body, or at least how fast my heart is pumping.
I try to still my shaking voice. “And Rhodes is my friend. He wouldn’t be this—”
My feeble words are cut off when I open my eyes, and Not Rhodes is at eye level. The sweeping gaze heats my skin, leaving me a little breathless at how he can do this in my dreams. Rhodes and I aren’t…we haven’t…this isn’t…gah! I can’t even think right now.
But I’m at least aware enough to know we are no longer in Upstairs Closet. We’re in Rhodes’ bedroom . He has me pressed against the door, hand beside my head with a very unholy gleam in his eyes.
“I am your friend, Paige.” His other hand lifts to trace the outer edge of my bottom lip. “But aren’t you curious if we could be more?”
My lips part, and I can feel every breath passing through them. “Yes.” I shake my head because Not Rhodes is messing with my head. “I mean…I don’t know. Maybe? But nothing has ever happened.”
He leans in even closer, skimming his nose along the hollow of my cheek, his lips brushing my skin in a way I’ve never felt because Real Rhodes has never done this .
But my body sure doesn’t care.
She’s a traitorous animal who pushes her chest forward, close enough to touch his, and practically begs for Not Rhodes—but also maybe Real Rhodes—to kiss her.
I have to be dreaming.
I’ve never felt this way before, wanting Rhodes to kiss me. But sure, I’ve wondered. He’s attractive—handsome in his own right, with features that become even more so because of who he is. But kissing him? That would be—
“Do you want more?” he asks under his breath.
More ?!
More than kissing?
More what ?
All of my words weigh fifty pounds, and I’m struggling. How can I answer that? What do I say? Do I want more?
His tone is still hushed when he pulls the neckline of my shirt to the side and whispers against my collarbone, “Alfredo.”
My eyes widen once more, and the breath in my lungs deflates faster than a popped balloon.
He just used our safe word.
Not Rhodes just said what Real Rhodes would have.
I blink several times—which I’m no longer concerned about since every stitch of clothing is gone from his body—and try to wake up. “This isn’t real.”
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, Paige, and I won’t,” he says in a rush, moving to hover in front of my face and making this totally unfair.
Go back to my neck !
I can’t think when he’s this close. When he seems so tangible and… real .
My chest heaves with every strained breath. “I…”
The sincerity in his gaze reminds me of my friend—the one who has witnessed my most embarrassing moments and lived to see the other side. Rhodes is the guy who brings me homemade soup when I’m sick—even though I pick the kale out of it—and the one who drives me to work. He has granola bars shoved into his pockets and bag just for me and endures every idea I’ve ever thought up.
That’s who Real Rhodes is.
If this is a dream, it’s not like I’d really be kissing my best friend.
“Rhodes.” His name is a whisper as it leaves my mouth, but it’s so strained, it nearly comes out as a moan.
It’s all the answer he needs before he closes the distance between our mouths and kisses me with the same intensity he does when telling me I’m his favorite person. I’m instantly lost in the nostalgia of him—the years of flirting and maybe a dash of hidden curiosity.
The truth is slapping me in the face at how much I want this.
Have I always wanted this?
His lips are soft and pliable against mine, devouring my tongue, taste—my entire person.
He’s throwing his whole self into this kiss, and I want to match it.
I skim my fingers over the coarse hair on his chest and up his shoulders, built by roasted broccoli and a consistent workout schedule. I’ve never let myself touch him like this. I didn’t know I wanted to until this very second when his body is on the other side of my palms, and his lips taste like sweet honey.
He presses me further into the closed door at my back, knocking against the dark wood and alerting every neighbor on all sides what we’re doing. But oddly, it doesn’t bother me. I savor what it feels like to have his hard lines graze my soft ones, how his hands skate along my sides and roam the skin under my pajama shirt, gripping and teasing.
I can’t even help panting against his lips when one of his hands slides to my lower back, dipping below the elastic of my flannel shorts. He knows exactly where to touch to garner my most intense responses. How does he do it? How does he know?
It’s because I’m dreaming.
I know what I like; Dream Paige knows, too, since I’m controlling his movements.
His other hand takes the path from my hip up my stomach, then higher until his fingers are at the curve of my breast. He’s only a hand-stretch away.
My legs are two twigs ready to snap underneath me, but his hand at my back is steady, holding me upright as his mouth makes a wanting mess out of mine. He cups my breast, dragging his thumb over my hardened nipple, and I gasp.
I’m squeezing the life out of his shoulders, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.
He rests his forehead on mine, our breaths frantic and fast as he touches me with slow and methodical caresses. All too soon, his hand creeps down my side, lower until he’s pushing my shorts and underwear out of the way and settling between my legs, warranting such intense desire I can’t feel anything else. Every nerve is concentrated in my clit as he rotates his thumb, rubbing lazy circles that are anything but.
Is this real? Or fake? Rhodes or…not Rhodes? I have no idea. All I know is how unexpectedly good it feels to be touched, held, and kissed by him.
I don’t want it to end .
I don’t want it to stop.
My orgasm builds as he kisses my neck and nips at my ear.
But an incessant beeping noise distracts me, pulling me from the moment.
I’m heaving, so close to tumbling over the edge, but I don’t. I can’t. I put my hands on his chest and note he’s wearing a shirt again. Pushing him backward, he’s back to wearing pants, too. I can’t see the erection I felt even though I’m still pulsing from his careful strokes.
“What’s that noise?” I ask him, breathing heavily through my nose.
He only shrugs again, then slowly starts walking backward toward his closet.
I want to reach out to him and keep him close so he can’t leave and can finish what he started, but the beeping noise gets louder until I have to cover my ears and start shaking my head.
I can’t get it to stop.
I scream at Rhodes, but his brows dive together.
He can’t hear me.
Louder.
And louder.
Until finally, he disappears inside the closet.
The wall behind me, beside me, in front of me, and above me is gone. I close my eyes and beg myself to stay asleep. It can’t be time to wake up. Not yet! He was just about to—
I’m still holding my ears, but the loud beeping sound becomes unbearable, and I slap my hand at it. Thankfully, it stops.
But instead of being at Upstairs Closet or in Rhodes’ apartment with Not Rhodes, I’m in my bed tangled in my blankets with my shirt riding up my stomach .
My arms go slack beside my head, and Cleo hovers over my face, meowing without reserve to remind me it’s time to feed her.
Reality settles in again.
But before I can pull myself out of my blanket shackles, I touch my fingers to my lips and swear I can still feel the press of Real Rhodes’ lips.