Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(161)

He turned his head just in time for her lips to hit his.

But she didn’t kiss him.

Instead, she whispered, “This is the beginning.”

His eyes opened, looking into hers.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered back and watched her eyes darken, sorrow and fear mixing in them before she went on.

“The beginning of the end.”

Then his arms were empty.

She was gone.

* * * * *

Layne’s eyes opened, his body tense, and he stared at the ceiling.

Rocky was dead asleep against him, her arm a heavy weight on his gut, her knee cocked, thigh on his, he could feel her hair on his chest.

It was a dream.

“Christ,” he whispered, his hand moving up her back, fingers sliding in her thick, soft hair.

She didn’t rouse, didn’t even move, didn’t make a noise. She was out.

He turned his head to the side and looked at the clock. It was 6:29. She didn’t wake him early this time.

He was still looking at the clock when the digits changed and the buzzer sounded loud. Rocky’s body twitched then she pulled up to an elbow, her other hand going to her hair and moving it from her face.

“An alarm,” she whispered into the dark room. “God, I forgot what that sounded like.” Then she plopped back down, landing on his chest, her arm going back around him and curling tight as Layne’s arm moved out to hit the off button. “Can we snooze?”

Layne hit the snooze button instead, the buzzer died and he replied, “Yeah, baby, when do you need to get up?”

“Quarter to,” she muttered, snuggling into him.

Layne was surprised; she was always out of bed early, considering it took her an age to get ready. Maybe she had a late start today.

“Quarter to seven?” he asked, just to be sure.

“Six,” she mumbled.

“Baby, it’s already six thirty,” he replied and her body tensed, she shot back up to her elbow and peered at the clock.

“Fuck!” she hissed, threw the covers back and crawled over him. “Fuck!” she repeated and darted from the bed.

“Roc,” he called as she raced across his room.

“I’m late!” she cried, the bathroom light went on and she disappeared.

Layne didn’t move. He lay in bed trying to shake off the dream.

It was nothing, he told himself. Just a dream. It wasn’t surprising he had it. Things were good, Rocky was back, he was happy but he’d had that before and it had gone bad before. He knew that subconsciously just as much as consciously. It would f**k with his head and it was. He had to find a way to sort her out and until then he just had to deal.

He was out of bed and tugging on a pair of pajama bottoms when he heard the faucet go on in the bathroom and he headed that way.

Rocky was in his tee, her hair in a messy knot at the top of her head, standing at his sink brushing her teeth.

He leaned against the arched doorway, her neck twisted and her eyes came to his.

“Do me a favor?” he asked, her eyebrows went up but she kept brushing and he went on. “Kiss me before you leave my bed.”

She took the toothbrush out of her mouth as her brows drew together. “Wha? Why?” she asked, her mouth full of foam.

“Just do me that favor,” he answered.

She stared at him a second, bent and spit then looked back at him. “You okay?”

He gave it to her honest. “My dream wasn’t so good this morning.”

Layne watched some of the color run out of her face. “What?”

“My dream, about you, it wasn’t so good this morning.”

Her gaze didn’t leave him for three beats then she turned, bent over the faucet, rinsed out her mouth, turned off the faucet and grabbed the towel from the holder. She wiped her mouth and dried her hand then came to him. She put a hand on his chest and leaned in.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Sweetcheeks, you’re late,” he reminded her.

“Yeah,” she replied but didn’t move except to fit herself to his front and curl the fingers of her other hand at his waist. “What happened?”

Layne put both hands to her hips. “You gotta get a move on.”

“In a minute, tell me about the dream.”

“It’s just a dream.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Rocky.”

“Layne.”

He looked down at her seeing she was prepared to go into stare down if she had to therefore his arms curved around her, one staying at her waist, the other one drifting up her back, her exposed neck, to glide his fingers in her pulled up hair.

“You woke me up, in the dream, to tell me it was the beginning of the end,” he told her.

Her eyes stayed locked to his then her chin dipped and she pressed her forehead against his chest.

His hand cupped the back of her head. “It’s just a dream.”

“I did that,” she told his chest.

“What?”

She tipped her head back again and repeated, “I did that.”

“Did what?”

Instead of answering his question, she informed him, “That freaked you out.”

“Like I said, Roc, it’s just a dream.”

“Right,” she whispered, her hand at his waist curling around his back and her hand at his chest sliding up so she could wrap her fingers around his neck. “Just a dream that made you get that look you’ve got right now and tell me to kiss you before I get out of bed.”