Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(71)

“I hate baseball.” A pause. “Can I watch with you?”

I nodded and watched her as she sat next to me on the couch. We said nothing but listened to the talking heads debate who was going to trade whom, and which pitcher had the stuff to be the season’s best closer. I watched this information wash over Alex. She wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were heavy and unfocused. She needs the distraction too.

“Hey.” I tapped my shoulder. “Be my guest.”

Her pale blue eyes—dark in the dimness—met mine, and they were full of gratitude.

“I’m so tired,” she said, leaning her head against me. “How can I be so tired and yet not be able sleep?”

“I don’t know but it’s the same for me.”

Yet, with Alex so close, a pleasant, heavy fatigue fell over me like a warm blanket. My eyes started to droop immediately. I realized it was quiet here. No traffic outside, no neighbors on the other side of the wall, shouting or playing their TV too loud. Her house was peaceful and quiet, on a safe street in a nice neighborhood. When was the last time I’d had that? When I was a kid, I thought, ages ago.

I glanced down at the red hair on my shoulder, which smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. Gently, I rested my cheek on that softness, and she snuggled closer to me.

“You still awake, Alex?”

“Mmmm.”

Hardly. She was almost out. Very softly, I kissed the top of her head. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

But she was already gone. I smiled and followed after.





Chapter Twenty-Six


Alex



I awoke, disoriented. Sunlight streamed in from the front windows instead of from my bedroom. Where…?

My head was pillowed against Cory’s chest. He lay propped against the arm of the couch and I lay sprawled over him, his body under mine, strong and lean. I fit against him perfectly, like a puzzle piece. The steady thump of his heartbeat counted time in my ear, and his arm lay slung over my shoulders. The deep, evenness of his breathing told me he was still asleep.

How did we end up like this?

I had to extricate myself. It was one thing to take comfort from him in the bank where death roamed the corridors, but now there was no excuse.

Fine, then I’m still asleep…

I squeezed my eyes shut and nestled closer. He smelled so good. Masculine and clean and something that was just distinctly him. I nearly did fall back to sleep. Every night since the robbery I’d tossed and turned, or slept fitfully, only to be awoken by an imagined gunshot or a scream. But a handful of minutes against Cory’s shoulder and I was out like a light.

Except now, my body, lying against his, was done sleeping.

I shifted ever so slightly against his hip and felt a rush of heat between my legs, and my mind came wide-awake too, filled with all the ways I wanted him.

And God, I wanted him. I wanted to wake him up by putting my hands and mouth on him, stroking him with both, as I listened for the sounds of his release, a release that I was bringing him. I wanted to lift his shirt and trace the ridges of his abdomen, which I had felt but not seen in the bank, with my tongue. I wanted to push him on his back and straddle him, ride him until we both shuddered with ecstasy, and the house was filled with our voices, unrestrained and uninhibited.

I flinched out of my reverie, my heart pounding. I studied Cory’s face—if he was awake, I didn’t think I could have helped myself. But his eyes were closed, his face peaceful in sleep.

Oh god, what is wrong with me? I let out a shaking breath and carefully slipped out from under his arm. He stirred but didn’t wake, and I went to the kitchen where I gripped the pale gray granite until the rush had passed.

There was a ten-dollar bill next to my note. I didn’t have to look in to the over to know he hadn’t touched the pizza. It had stung a little, that he hadn’t come back last night. But I reminded myself that he could come and go as he pleased. I’d be damned before I policed his whereabouts, much less let myself care.

Even so, it had stung.

You can’t let it sting. And you can’t entertain your pathetic sexual fantasies with him. It’s not fair and you know it.

I slipped into my room to shower and dress. I had lunch with the Posse, and then my mother and I had an appointment to pick out flowers. For my wedding. My wedding to Drew.

In the shower, I turned the water all the way to cold and didn’t relent until the fire was doused completely.

#

I slipped out of the bungalow while Cory was in the shower getting ready for work, so I had some time to kill before the noon lunch date. I wandered around Neiman Marcus, proud that I could be out alone without any strange feelings of vulnerability. I was getting better, and that was a sign, wasn’t it?

I rode that small wave of optimism, until I found myself in the lingerie department, and then it died a swift death.

I shopped for lingerie like a junky with an addiction. I bought beautiful pieces, some racy pieces, some very naughty pieces, and I wore them every day. Every. Day. It had begun years ago, when I still cherished the pathetic hope that some night Drew would decide he couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d tear off my clothes and find a little something more to keep his blood racing.

Now, it had just become habit.

I let my fingers trail along a sexy, lacy black thong and matching bra that would make my breasts look as if they’d spill out at the slightest touch.