Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maddie
I rouse from the best dream I’ve ever had in my life.
Well, one of the best dreams, because I’m woman enough to admit I have had some sexy dreams about a certain group of neighbors of mine over the months since they moved in.
But this dream? Hell, it felt so real that I’m almost sad to be waking up.
Alas, my bladder is screaming at me, my mouth is drier than a nun’s danger zone, and I’m pretty sure there’s a one-man marching band boning my brain to death.
As beautiful as the dream I was having was, with soft lips, pretty confessions, and a swoop in my stomach that very much feels like the part of a roller coaster when you dip hard and fast, I’m pretty sure I might die if I don’t use the restroom soon.
Sighing into a very warm cushion, I nuzzle into it, only to freeze when I realize it feels nothing like my pillow.
Pretty sure my pillows are softer, more forgiving.
My face sinks into my pillows, it doesn’t rest on the surface of a heated slab that beats a rhythm that kind of sounds like a heartbeat.
I rub my face into it again, eyes still closed, wondering what the hell happened to my pillows, when suddenly the slab groans and rumbles, “It’s too early to be awake. The sun isn’t even up yet.”
The voice that comes from beneath me is sleep-roughened, delicious, and instantly recognizable, and my eyes snap open as suddenly as I move.
My hands drop on either side of Rayne’s head, his hair a sleep-rumpled mess that looks much too sexy, and I swallow hard as my fingers form fists that dig into the couch beneath him.
I run my gaze over the man, taking in every inch of those gorgeous features.
I scan those defined cheekbones and the sharp jaw I’ve memorized since the moment Rayne appeared in my bathroom doorway.
My gaze traces over almond eyes that are closed as he sleeps beneath me, already picturing the dazzling blue eyes I can see clearly in my mind, and the breath stalls in my chest.
Why the hell am I using Rayne freaking Hunter as a body pillow, and why is he letting me?
Frowning, I hurriedly scramble through my thoughts, finding them fragmented and a little scattered, but mostly intact enough for me to string together and form some semblance of sense.
There were cocktails. Lots and lots of cocktails.
And stairs. So many stairs.
I was going to die via the stairs.
And then Rayne appeared.
I’m pretty sure he carried me up the remaining stairs.
And he stayed. I think we talked. What did we talk about?
Frowning down at the beautiful man who appears to have fallen back to sleep, full lower lip parting as his breathing deepens and his arm wrapped around my back loosens slightly while we lie sprawled across my couch, I scramble through my memories and piece them together quickly.
There was talk of chicken. Yes, the slutty chicken.
And pigeons with heads in the sand? Wait, what the hell?
Shaking my head, I shut my eyes tightly, scraping the barrel of my patience while I try to piece together the fragments of my fuzzy memories.
I’m pretty sure I told him why I’ve been avoiding them.
I think I might have compared myself to a puppy.
And then… oh my God.
The startling realization hits me then, remembering that I blurted a drunken confession to the man beneath me. And it wasn’t just a confession to Rayne, but I’m pretty damned sure I told him I like all four of them. And then-
Eyes snapping open once more, I startle when I find those sharp blue eyes lazily watching me, partially open as he catches me freaking out like a goddamned idiot.
Because I’m now realizing my dream wasn’t actually a dream, and I’ve been sleeping on top of the man who kissed me last night before handing me comfy clothes to change into, bundling me on top of him, and demanding I fall asleep.
I haven’t fallen asleep that quickly in all of my life. I can’t be sure if it was the booze that did it, or if it’s because Rayne hugged me into slumber, but whatever it was helped give me one of the best nights’ rest I’ve ever had.
“You’re freaking out too early in the morning. We’ve only slept for two hours. Go back to sleep and you can analyze everything then,” he demands, sleep-roughened voice sending tingles all through me.
Swallowing hard, I nod before pausing, blurting quietly, “I need to pee.”
A slow smile curls at Rayne’s lips, and I lie stunned on top of him as I suddenly remember the amusement on his face, the laughter he shared with me last night, all of the smiles.
So many pretty smiles. I’ve never seen the guy like that before, and my heart flips rapidly beneath my rib cage before beating a rhythm so rapid that I’m shocked it doesn’t make a prison break and flee straight from my body.
“Go pee, mayhem,” he commands sleepily, and he helps me climb off his deliciously hard body before falling back to the couch.
Chewing my lip as my mind is left reeling, I shuffle to the bathroom as I run through the whole night in my head, pieces slotting together to paint the whole picture that looks a little warped but helps me remember everything that happened the moment I practically fell out of the taxi that brought me home.
I definitely told Rayne I liked him. I told him I liked all of them. And he reacted by telling me they like me, too. And then he kissed me.
Holy shit.
Oh my God.
Rayne Hunter kissed me.
Locking myself away in the bathroom, the door barely shuts before I’m squealing and running on the spot on the tips of my toes, clapping like a freaking idiot as a grin damn near splits my face.
My heart is close to bursting out of my chest, not quite able to believe what my memory is absolutely certain of.
Because there isn’t an amount of alcohol in the world that could ever fabricate the realness of Rayne’s lips on mine.
Slapping a hand over my mouth before I silently scream into my palm, eyes shutting as I relive the kiss over and over in my head, I thank the universe for finally blessing me with something good.
I imprint the feel of Rayne’s lips on mine into my psyche, biting my lower lip and almost tasting him still hours later, and whisper my thanks to whatever guardian angel is watching over me for finally getting something right.
It takes longer than I care to admit for me to get my shit together enough to pee, wash my hands and face, and rapidly brush my teeth before reentering the living room.
My steps are silent as I tiptoe toward Rayne, my gaze running over his sleeping form as I smile down at him.
His right arm is tucked behind his head, acting like a pillow, while his other is slung over his stomach.
One of his legs is bent at the knee, his foot tucked beneath his other leg, his body relaxed as he lounges comfortably in his sleep.
He looks so sweet when he sleeps, face smoothed out and relaxed. It’s cute.
“Quit watching me and come back to sleep,” he grumbles so suddenly that I damn near jump out of my skin, slapping a hand over my chest. The chest covered in a shirt he brought me and allowed me to change into while he went to the bathroom to give me privacy after kissing the sense out of me.
Before I can act, Rayne moves like a viper, striking before I can even get my thoughts in a straight and orderly line. I’m yanked back on top of him by his hand as it latches around mine, my fall very ungraceful but effective nonetheless.
The moment I’m horizontal and sprawled over him, he rearranges us until we’re both lying down comfortably, both of us on our sides with my head tucked beneath his chin and my hand pressed against his chest where I feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
One of his arms acts as my pillow while the other bands around my back, hugging my body to his, while he latches one of his legs through mine and effectively traps me between him and the couch.
With a spine-tingling rumble, he says, “We’ll talk when the sun is up, okay? Just get some more sleep until then.”
As if I could possibly sleep now that I know what Rayne’s lips feel like against mine.
I’m about to mutter as much, but then the devil pulls back, drops a very brief but sweet kiss to my mouth, and whispers against my lips, “Sleep, mayhem.”
When he tucks my head back under his chin, I half-assedly grumble, “Easier said than done.”
I receive a snort in return, but I snuggle into his warmth and shut my eyes, taking a steadying, deep breath that actually helps relax my body.
I don’t actually remember falling back to sleep, but when my eyes open again, it’s to find sunlight streaming through the wall of windows that display the cloudless morning sky and the morning sunshine that now paints my entire living room.
There’s an arm snugly wrapped around my waist, while the arm beneath my head lies stretched out in front of me, a cell phone clasped in its owner’s hand.
Blinking my eyes open properly, I catch sight of a planner app on Rayne’s phone, his thumb scrolling slowly, and I ask, “What’re you doing?”
His thumb pauses and the arm around my middle tightens before he relaxes again. His voice is less rough with sleep, and I wonder how long he’s been awake as he says, “Rescheduling today’s appointments so we can have that talk.”
I frown, feeling uncomfortable with him rearranging his workday just to talk to me about everything that was said last night. I mean, I’m sure that doesn’t need an entire day, right? Plus, I kind of think I need a hot minute to wrap my head around the reality of what happened myself.
So, with a shake of my head, I say, “Why don’t I come to your studio? We can talk when you have a free minute.”
Rayne pauses for a long moment before he finally asks, “You sure? You’re not going to disappear again?”
Even though that is definitely earned, I can’t stop the wince, and I nod slowly. “Promise. I won’t disappear.”
“You’re definitely going to stop by?” he assures, and I instantly feel bad for avoiding him and the others all week.