8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Soft snores pull me from a dreamless slumber. I rub my eyes, blinking in the fading darkness of early morning. A deeper snore refocuses my attention as I look over to a very shirtless—and very asleep—Cas-fucking-Wilder.
Shit!
I guess fucking a rockstar was, in fact, not all just a dream.
A fact my pussy confirms when I try to move.
I’m sore, which is going to make this walk of shame even harder to accomplish.
First things first: I need to find my phone.
I don’t remember where I left my bag or my clothes.
Blinking, I replay my memories from last night, slowly retracing my footsteps.
Slowly and carefully, I slide out from under Cas’s heavy arm draped around my waist. Easing myself off the bed, I scan the floor for my clothes, gathering them in my arms and tiptoeing back to his living room. My bag is right where I left it—on the coffee table.
First, I snatch my phone, swiping it open and ignoring everything as I pull up the rideshare app and order a pick-up. Tossing my phone in my bag, I dress, folding up his clothes and laying them neatly on the sofa.
I check the status. A driver has accepted and should be arriving in the next five minutes. I think this would all look better if I walk over to the main entrance of the hotel to wait. I don’t need anything weird happening...or to be caught sneaking out of his bus.
It takes me an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to open the door.
I find myself listening for Cas’s snores.
It’s the only other sound I can hear as my heartbeat thuds in my ears.
Eventually, I sneak out, closing it softly behind myself.
Trekking across the parking lot, I keep to the shadows—still lurking around the lot, full of parked cars—as the sun begins to rise in the distance.
So far, so good. I haven’t encountered anyone else. When I make it to the hotel entrance, I sit down on a bench to wait. No sooner do I sit down than a white car pulls up. The driver confirms my ride, and I climb into the back seat. I try to act as casual as possible. We drive in silence.
Thirty minutes later, my house comes into view, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Roxy’s car is in her driveway, which means she made it home okay, and everything at my house looks normal—so I can sneak in and pretend I didn’t spend the night with Cas.
I tip my driver, then sprint inside, thankful to be home at last. I don’t even make it past the living room. Instead, I throw myself onto the oversized gray sectional, pull a blanket over myself, and crash.