Chapter Seven #2
“No, he’s not,” she mutters, pulling back. “He already messaged me while you all were in the meeting to tell me I’m ‘not making very smart decisions.’”
“He’s just worried,” I tell her. “You focus on making your shop the best boutique Palm Springs has ever seen.”
She smiles, but her eyes stay sad.
Always so fucking sad.
And as much as I hate myself for thinking it…I truly hope she finds someone who loves her.
Someone who isn’t Tank.
Someone who puts her first instead of his damn insecurities.
“See you tomorrow, Skip,” she says, heading to the door. “And maybe lock your door from now on.”
“Why?” I ask, following her. “No one’s just going to waltz into my house. The compound is safe.”
“I know,” she says. “But on the off chance someone does manage to get in… do you really want to risk them walking right into your house while Eli’s sleeping upstairs?”
The thought alone sends my heart into overdrive.
For the first time since I moved in… I lock the fucking door.
And tomorrow? I’m installing at least three more deadbolts.
Eli has no idea he’s in my house.
I didn’t even think twice about bringing him here instead of the empty one next door.
I’ll tell him tomorrow. And if he insists on the empty house, I’ll step back.
But I’m going to try really fucking hard to get him to stay here with me.
Pathetic?
Maybe.
Do I care?
Not even a little.
***Eli***
“Come on, pretty boy. Open those brown eyes for me. Just for a minute.”
I’m dreaming… and it’s the best dream I’ve ever had.
I’m wrapped in a man’s arms, held like I weigh nothing. Like I belong there. He’s laughing…really laughing…head tipped back, mouth open, the kind of sound that shakes the air around us.
But everything moves in slow motion, like I’m sinking underwater.
I can’t see his face. But I can see mine.
It’s like I’m standing outside my own body, watching it unfold from a few feet away.
Watching me look up at this faceless man like he hung the moon.
And the look on my face…Wow.
It’s so full of love that it actually hurts to witness.
Like my heart recognizes him even though my mind can’t.
Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for arms that feel like that.
“Baby, I need you to wake up and drink this.”
No. I don’t want to leave.
“Come on now. Be a good boy and do as you’re told. Then you can go back to sleep.”
My dream man starts to fade. His warmth slips through my fingers like smoke.
Panic tugs hard at my chest. Why does it feel like he’s falling away from me?
Who is he?
…
I wake with a full-body jolt, eyes flying open.
And when I look at the man sitting next to me, I can’t breathe.
There’s this one moment…that strange, blurry second where you’re not asleep anymore but not fully awake either…and in that second, I swear my dream man is right there beside me.
Right there.
Real.
Mine.
But it’s… just Skip.
Skip, the man who saved me.
Skip, the man who makes me blush and laugh and panic all at once.
Skip, the man who told me earlier that I was special, like he meant it.
My heart trips over itself.
Could Skip be my dream man?
Or am I just reaching?
Am I just lonely… exhausted… wildly attracted to him in ways I shouldn’t be?
Or…Or did my body recognize something my brain is too scared to admit?
Skip shifts closer, and when he speaks, his voice wraps around me like warm hands.
“There he is,” he murmurs. “Come on, sweetheart. You gotta drink a little for me.”
Sweetheart.
Baby.
Pretty boy.
The man could read me the dictionary, and I’d probably pass out again.
He holds out a cup, one big hand sliding behind my neck to help me sit up. His touch is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll crumble if he presses too hard.
“Just a few sips,” he coaxes. “Be a good boy.”
My brain short-circuits.
Be a what?
I take the cup mostly so I don’t die right there.
My hands are shaking, and Skip notices. Of course he does. He takes the cup from me and brings it to my lips himself. The rim brushes my mouth, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of how close he is.
I drink because he asked me to.
Because he wants me to.
“There you go,” he whispers, approving, and something in my chest melts. “Good boy.”
I nearly choke.
He pats my back lightly. “Easy. Don’t drown on me.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, even though I’m not. Not even a little.
Skip smirks like he knows exactly why.
“Do you have a Daddy or a Dom kink?” I ask. “You’re always calling me boy.”
“Nope,” he smiles. “But, I do have a praise kink. Not so much about receiving it as I am about dishing it out. Plus, calling you a good boy makes you blush so prettily. Now, be my good boy and drink the rest of this water.”
With wide…and confused…eyes, I do as I’m told.
When I finish, he sets the cup down and stays right there.
“I have club shit to do in the morning,” he says.
“So, I might not be here when you wake up. But I want you to sleep in as long as your body allows. The garage is closed tomorrow since the paint crew is coming in. Make yourself at home. Eat my food. Shower. Watch TV. Just don’t overdo it.
I’ll have someone come over and check on you. ”
“Wait…is this your house?” I ask. “I thought I was going to stay in an empty one.”
“I’d much rather you stayed here,” he smiles down at me. “We can talk about it more when I get home tomorrow. Now, close your eyes and go back to sleep. You’re still exhausted. I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Skip… you don’t have to stay.”
“Baby,” he says, eyebrows lifting like I’ve personally offended him, “I’m not going anywhere.”
There it is again.
Baby.
Every time he says it, something inside me lights up like a switch being flipped.
In my half-asleep haze, the words slip out before I can catch them.
“You sound like my dream man.”
The second it’s out, I freeze.
Skip’s head tilts. “Your what?”
Shoot
“I-I mean…never mind. I’m tired. Delirious. Ignore me.”
Skip leans in just enough that I feel his breath on my cheek.
“No,” he says, voice low and maddeningly patient. “Tell me.”
Heat rushes through my whole body. “It was just a dream. Just… someone holding me. Laughing with me. Loving me…He was perfect.”
He doesn’t tease.
Doesn’t smirk.
Instead, his expression shifts…softening in a way that makes my stomach turn to absolute liquid.
“Dream about me again,” his voice whispers against my skin. “I don’t mind.”
“What makes you think my dream man was you?” I ask.
“I mean, of course it was me,” he smirks. “You did say he was perfect, after all…right?”
“You’re certifiably insane,” I laugh, closing my eyes.
“Go to sleep, baby.”
My body is all too willing to obey his command. I fall asleep…and I dream.