Chapter 20 #3
He checked to make sure she still had her own clothes on under it before he worked the zipper down with more care than he’d ever used setting a breaching charge, then tugged the fabric over her head.
She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t wake.
He found one of her nightgowns, but then decided waking her up so she could put it on wasn’t important.
By the time he pulled the blanket up to her chin, she was already dead to the world, one hand curled under her cheek, the other clutching the stuffed rabbit he’d given her not long after she’d been rescued.
He stayed there a second longer than necessary, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Then he turned off the light and shut the door behind him.
The couch in the living room was too short for him, but he didn’t care. He stretched out anyway, and crossed his arms behind his head.
He probably should’ve been in the war-room, going over the intel they had dug up on Qasos, prepping for the inevitable shitstorm heading their way. But instead, he was exactly where he shouldn’t want to be…but also didn’t want to be anywhere else.
What would it be like to have this be reality and not a few stolen moments of what should have been another man’s life?
Before he had more than a minute to figure out the mental gymnastics of what that meant, the front door creaked open, and Glenna’s laughter spilled inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of Siobhán’s cackle.
“I cannot believe Petra thought she could do a handstand.”
“The faceplanting into the tiramisu was awesome.”
Glenna’s words cut off as she stumbled into the living room, and she blinked owlishly at Tyrone’s sprawled form. “Oh. Hi.” She grinned, then ruined it by tripping over her own feet. He caught her before she hit the floor, her body warm and pliant against his.
“Jesus. How much of that shit did you drink?”
“Enough,” she slurred, patting his chest like he was a very large, very convenient wall. “M’fine.”
“You’re hammered. A couple of sheets to the wind,” he corrected, steering her toward the bedroom. It looked like it was his job to pour the Harper females into bed tonight.
She giggled, the sound bubbling up from her throat as she let him guide her. “You’re bossy,” she informed him, poking his sternum. “But sexy bossy.”
He ignored that. “Bed. Now.”
She flopped onto the mattress with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, then immediately rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. “You’re still here,” she observed, like this was the most fascinating thing she’d ever learned.
“At least we know you’re not blind drunk.” He grabbed a wastebasket from the bathroom and set it on the floor beside the bed. “Just in case.”
She peered at it, then at him. “You think I’m gonna puke?”
“I know you drank Talon’s vodka. Yes.”
“Pfft.” She waved a dismissive hand, then immediately clapped it over her mouth. “Okay. Maybe. But we made it into yummy fruity TikTok cocktails.”
Jesus, please let me be there when Lego hears that.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sleep it off, Glenna-girl. Because tomorrow is gonna suck with the hangover you’re gonna have.”
“Stay.”
He froze as the whispered word slammed into him. He’d like nothing more than to stay, but somehow, he didn’t feel right about her being so drunk.
Can I keep my hands to myself?
She reached for him, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and she tugged him toward her and the bed. “Please?”
“Glenna—”
“I like you.” She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You’re nice, and you smell sooooooo good.” She inhaled deeply, then coughed. “Mostly.”
He should’ve left. Should’ve told her she was drunk and this was a bad idea and walked the hell out. Instead, he toed off his boots and climbed onto the bed beside her, fully clothed.
She immediately rolled into him, her head pillowed on his chest, one arm slung over his waist. “Mmm. Warm.” Her fingers traced idle patterns over his shirt, her breath hot through the fabric. “You’re really good at kissing.”
“You’re really drunk,” he countered, but his voice came out rougher than he intended.
“So?” She tilted her head up, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Kiss me anyway.”
He didn’t have time to refuse because she placed a sloppy and insistent kiss on his lips, and he was kissing her back before he could stop himself, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping her hip to keep her steady.
She made a noise against his mouth, something needy and desperate, and his body responded like she’d lit a fuse. “Fuck.”
She’s drunk.
Damn it.
He groaned, pulling back. “No. Not like this.”
She whined, trying to chase his mouth. “Why not?”
“Because you’re wasted,” his pulse hammered in his throat. “I’m not that guy.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun.”
“Go to sleep, Glenna.”
She huffed, but her eyelids were already drooping, her body relaxing against his. “Fine. But you’re staying. Right?”
He adjusted the pillow under her head and let his fingers trail up and down her spine until her breathing evened out. The last thing he heard before he let himself snooze was her murmur, soft and slurred:
“Dwight would’ve liked you for me and Kelsey.”
Ah fuck no.
He’d have murdered me on the spot for even looking at you.