This Is A Dream . . . A Really Weird Dream
Note to self: All she has to do is ask.
A soft tickle brushed my nose, and I slapped a hand on my face.
Groaning, I pushed my sleep mask up and cracked my eyes open. Bright golden sunlight streamed in through my open curtains, and I cursed internally. I must’ve forgotten to shut them before bed.
Rubbing a fist against my eye, my vision cleared. Shapes began forming as I yawned deeply. When I stretched my arms above my head, a throaty chuckle reverberated across the sheets.
“What the—” I shouted, scrambling away from the hunk of a man laying naked next to me. “Who the fuck are you?”
The strange man just chuckled and bit his plump bottom lip, and my eyes trailed over his firm body. Gleaming pale skin sparkled back at me, his chest on full display. Hard pecs with tight brown nipples stood at attention, and his chiseled abdomen was a work of art. I almost needed to shield my eyes from the glint bouncing off his six-pack. One of his hands rubbed the scruff on his jaw, a sly smirk heating the air between us.
His gentle, chocolate eyes were alight with lust, piercing me with their passion. I felt heat bloom in my pussy, a whimper barely slipping past my lips as I lost myself to his aura.
“Who are you?” I tried again, my voice no less affected than before, though I tried to hide it by clearing my throat.
“Does it matter, baby?” he countered. “We both know you’re only here for one thing.” At that, he reached over to touch my face.
“Me?!” I screeched. “You’re in my house !” I smacked his hand away from me.
The naked man just laughed, and my blood spiked, though only because the way his Adam’s apple jumped threw me into a daze. It was like I suddenly threw all sense of safety out of my window and into the dry heat of Arcadia.
“That’s it, I’m gonna call—” My words stuck in my throat. Shit . My arms swept over the duvet, pushing the naked man over as I looked for a phone, any phone.
Double shit. My princess phone was gone. Where was my cell?
I twisted, eyes shooting straight for my bedside table where I usually charged my phone, but it wasn’t there.
Fuck. It was still on the couch.
The naked man laughed and I turned to glare at him, but the blanket had shifted a few inches and I was now blessed with the sight of his very happy trail leading into a pair of hot pink, super tight boxer-briefs. A chuckle lodged itself in my throat as my hand flew up to my mouth.
How was his package still so sexy in those bright pink boxers?
“Let’s see if you can still laugh when I stuff your mouth full of my cock.”
My eyes bugged, laughter ceasing entirely. His words were said casually, but he was dead serious.
“Oh, like I’d give you the fucking chance ,” I gritted through clenched teeth. Even though the threat made my breath catch, I would never let him know how his words affected me. Who the fuck was this guy?
“I know you’re already wet.” His brows waggled at me, eyes still bright with lust but thinly lined with humor as he tried to distract me from his crude words.
But the stranger was right.
My pussy throbbed at the sight of the demigod in front of me. Chiseled and scruffy jaw, straight nose, chocolate eyes, and an effortlessly sexy mop of brown tangles on his head. His short facial hair framed pink lips and accentuated a dimpled chin before tracing up his jaw. My pussy wept as his eyes flicked to my mouth, a smirk curling his lips.
“So if I reached over and slipped my fingers under your panties, you’ll be . . . unaffected?” The heat in the room cranked up, thickening the air between us.
My muscles clamped down, unsatisfied with how empty I was.
“I don’t know you,” I argued, sweat beading along my hairline. I was well aware that wasn’t a denial. This was crazy. I should be panicking, right?
“Let’s change that.” His lithe fingers swept a lock of my black hair behind my ear.
The man leaned forward, sharing my breath. My eyes flicked down to his wet lips, and I moved a hair’s breadth closer.
“I’m Pierce,” he whispered against my lips .
Why hadn’t I moved away?
This was crazy.
“Harper.” Breaths fell hoarsely between us as electricity pulled me closer. I was surprised that my hair wasn’t standing on end.
But I had him right where I wanted him. Or maybe it was the other way around.
I smiled, looking deeply into Pierce’s chocolate eyes before speaking carefully. “Would you like to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my house, Pierce?”
A flash of perfectly white teeth. “You called me, love.”
“What the fuck? No, I didn’t. ” My voice was alarmingly high. “I don’t even know you!”
“Yes, you do.” He raised a singular brow.
“No, I really don’t,” I practically growled.
“We talk every night.” Pierce’s words were confident, his gaze dropping to my lips, once again. “ Every night.”
What . . . ?
Realization dawned, and I stared at him dumbfounded. Pushing him over, I searched the bed once again.
No trace of my hot pink princess phone.
Not under the duvet, not hiding behind a pillow, not tossed unceremoniously onto the floor . . .
My eyes slowly moved back to the hunk of a man still in my bed, now staring at me as if he wanted to eat me, and I looked at color of his boxers again.
That . . . couldn’t be a coincidence, right?
I gulped, the reality of my situation weighing on me like a stone. My breath stuck in my throat as I clambered out of bed, blindly reaching for the door handle and backing out of my room and into the living space. Pierce stalked me, step for step, following me as I skirted by the couch to grab my cell and towards the front door. My purse sat on an end table directly next to my door, along with my house keys and I beelined for them.
“Stay . . . ” I trailed off, eyes darting to my purse. “Just stay here, okay?”
Pierce paused and considered my words. I waited by the door as he processed my command, nodding as reassuringly as I could manage.
He nodded back once, and a sigh escaped me.
“You’ll stay?”
“Yes.” His brows furrowed, followed by another sharp nod.
“Okay . . . ” I floundered. “I’ll be back.”
My left arm snaked behind me to grab the door handle and I slipped out of my condo.
It only hit me once I was walking down the sidewalk towards my favorite local coffee spot that I was still wearing my purple slip and matching sleep mask. But my bare feet were committed in their mission, so I shook off the unease and briskly walked the last five minutes to the cafe, yanking the sleep mask off and shoving it into my purse.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee beans hit me like a wall as I entered The Bean’s Knees. The line was shorter today, and I refused to pretend my wardrobe was anything other than a strategic choice. A sort of 13 Going On 30 style . . . Sure, let’s go with that.
I just prayed they didn’t look at my feet.
I couldn’t believe what just happened. What did Pierce mean that we spoke every night? And why was he wearing bright pink boxer-briefs? The exact same color as my princess phone . . .
Surely, I must’ve hit my head before I fell asleep and this was all the culmination of a grade-A concussion. There was absolutely no way my princess phone magically transformed into that hunk of a man overnight.
This wasn’t some outlandish romance novella. This was real fucking life.
It wasn’t possible, couldn’t be possible . . . right?
My feet numbly moved forward in line without prompting as my mind spun, the lack of logic supporting this theory blatantly obvious. I may not be the smartest woman in the room, but I sure as shit wasn’t an idiot.
It wasn’t until a hand waved in front of my face that I realized it was my turn to order. I shook myself subtly, pasting on an apathetic look.
“Oh, shit, sorry. Can I please have an iced medium honey latte with oat milk?”
The barista—who I had to have given my order to countless times—smiled, a sparkle to his blue eyes. “Your usual, got it,” he said with a smile. A smile that should’ve sent butterflies in my belly, but instead just made my stomach clench.
Paying with a tap of my phone, I stepped off to the side to wait for my drink. My bare foot tapped the cool tile as I waited, my anxiety sparkling in my restless limbs.
Time muffled away as I processed what the fuck just happened. So my phone turned into an actual man.
I huffed one sharp, unbelievable laugh to myself, earning a strange look from an older woman drinking a hot tea.
I’d always said I wanted a fictional man to make me lose all sense of feminism, but that was because they were exactly that— fictional. And the man sitting in my condo was certainly the definition of fictional . . .
You know, provided I wasn’t going crazy .
I scoffed just before my name was called by another barista. Grabbing my drink and stomping back outside, I tilted my face towards the bright sun and embraced its heat as it seeped into my skin, warming my bones. Despite the fact it was October in Phoenix, it was still in the nineties. A tackiness to the air told me the storm from last night wasn’t quite over yet.
I found a bench to sit at while I drank my iced latte and worked through my thoughts. Was I laying on my bathroom floor, knocked out after slipping and hitting my head on the counter top? This couldn’t be real life . . . right?
But on the other hand, what if it was? What if Pierce was real ? Was I really going to let this hunk of a man slip through my fingers, all because he used to be my princess phone?
God, Pierce was hot and I definitely wanted to find out just how real he was . . .
Acid burned in the back of my throat when I thought of pulling open my bedroom door and finding a hot pink landline sitting primly on my unmade bed. The thought of returning to my condo and finding it empty was . . . unsettling.
But why?
My phone rang and I looked down at the caller ID: Amelia .
“Hey, babe,” I answered, chewing on my thumbnail. I wasn’t sure how she would react if I told her. Should I tell her?
“Hey, what are you doing today? I’m off, for once, wanna go get brunch?”
My spine tingled, the indecision weighing on me. What if she told me I was going crazy? What if I was crazy?
“Um,” I stalled, trying to figure out what I was going to tell her. “I may have plans already.”
“What? With who? Your only friend is me.” Her tenor was teasing but also inquisitive .
She was also right.
“I may have met someone last night. And he’s still in my condo waiting for me to bring back coffee.” Not totally a lie. I wrenched my thumb from my mouth.
“How the fuck am I just now hearing about this, then?” Her voice turned sharp. Amelia was all bark and all bite, so I should’ve been ready for her third degree, but somehow, it still burned.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Try me.”
I could picture her now: perfectly sculpted, deep auburn eyebrow raised in challenge.
I sighed, and spilled everything.
Fifteen minutes later, I hung up the phone, thoroughly not sure why I told her. I’m not sure if she even believed me, anyway. She probably thought I’d had too many glasses of wine last night, and was still drunk. I still wasn’t totally convinced I wasn’t laying somewhere unconscious, either. Maybe she’d call an ambulance for me and I’d wake up in the hospital.
That probably wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to me today.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, sweat prickling the nape of my neck as I sat with my thoughts. And as the final sips of my drink melted in my hand, I made a decision: If life gave me Pierce . . . I was going to make the shit out of some lemonade.
Or whatever, close enough.
I nodded to myself, resolved in my decision. Pulling out my cell, I forwarded my landline number to my cell.
There.
Now I wouldn’t miss any of my regulars while I dealt with the demigod currently occupying my home.
My cellphone chirped, and my eyes bugged at the notification.
Ezra sent me an extra three-hundred for last night.
Why did I feel guilty?