Page 45 of From the Embers
I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced around the living room. The couch looked about as comfortable as a pile of rocks, but the cushions pulled off the back, so I hoped I’d get lucky and find a sofa bed.
Eason stopped at the doorway, his chin meeting his shoulder as he looked back at me. “You coming?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“To bed. You coming?”
I blinked and my stomach dipped, that damn schoolgirl inside me already sprinting his way. The wiser, more rational Bree who was freaking the fuck out stood like a statue staring at him.
What did that even mean? He was expecting me to sleep in the same bed with him? Like actual sleeping? Or was he expressing the more suggestive use of the term sleeping together?
I mean, honestly, it didn’t change my answer. Though clarification would give me a heads-up on which DEFCON I needed to alert.
“Um, yes?”
With his confusion matching my own, he turned all the way around. “Okay? Then what’s the holdup? Did you bring something to sleep in, or do you need a tee?”
I glanced at my bag, which he had insisted on retrieving from the car earlier, and tried to remember what I’d packed. Unsure where the day would take me, I’d thrown a few things into a duffel, though none of them were the proper attire to share a bed with a man for the first time. Especially not with that man being Eason Maxwell.
I had pajamas. Flannel pants and a matching top that were almost as attractive as a burlap sack. And that’s not even scratching the surface on the sensible underwear and full-coverage bra. Outstanding. Every man’s fantasy.
I blinked again, smiling through the horror. “A T-shirt would be great.”
“You got it.” He disappeared into the room, and I took a moment to practice a little breathing exercise I liked to call hyperventilating.
Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me? It was Eason. The last man on Earth I should have been nervous around. But this wasn’t one of our nights around the firepit. Or at least it wasn’t for me. For all I knew, he was in there thinking this was nothing more than a casual sleepover between two friends.
Damn. The thought of our kiss meaning nothing to him shouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did.
This caused more hyperventilating, which in turn caused me to continue standing in the living room and avoiding the inevitable.
“Bree.” He stuck his head around the doorjamb. “Hustle up. You got the bathroom first.”
Awesome. We were sharing a shower too. “On my way.”
We were quiet for the most part as we got ready for bed. His hand found my hip more than once as we slid past each other in the small room, most of the space occupied by a king-sized bed and two rustic end tables. His touch never lingered, leaving me more confused on what “coming to bed” entailed in Eason’s mind. But I was never one to go into a situation unprepared.
I spent an obscene amount of time in the bathroom, shaving and plucking, brushing my teeth, and styling my hair into something that I hoped would be attractive without the use of the blow dryer I had not brought. I put on makeup and then took it off, not wanting to look too eager. Seriously, who puts makeup on before bed? Besides, Eason had seen me at my worst, so I wasn’t sure my efforts were even worth it. They made me feel better though.
All of my trouble fell to the wayside as I walked out of the bathroom and found him sound asleep on top of the duvet, shirtless in a pair of sweats, lights still on, his phone on his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles.
I was almost as relieved as I was disappointed.
He didn’t budge as I covered him with a blanket and stealthily moved his phone to the nightstand. His charging cord was lying there, so I plugged it in and then turned the lamp off.
Light from the moon illuminated the space. However, the face of Eason’s cell glowed brighter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked at his phone. He let the kids play on it even after I’d warned him not to. He thought it was hilarious that, at not even two years old, Madison and Luna would take ridiculous and usually accidental selfies. Asher got in on the action too and would swipe Eason’s phone to make videos of the new moves he’d learned in karate. Eason had told me once that his favorite part of the day was opening his camera roll to see what surprises the kids had left him.
He must have had a million hilarious and heartwarming images he could have used instead, but right then, his home screen was a picture of me sitting on the floor, Luna in my lap, Madison at my side. My mouth was open with laugher as Asher clung to my neck from behind. It had only been a week or so ago, and I remembered the day well. I’d just beaten Ash in a highly competitive game of Memory, and he had declared a dog pile on me for cheating. I had no idea Eason had taken the photo, much less programmed it to his home screen.
