Page 81 of Let’s Be Real

Brow furrowed, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “I—Samantha?” He looked tired. Exhausted to the bone.

After all the work I’d done on his bedroom, this was the thanks I got? He should have been tucked in his comfy bed, sawing logs, dreaming about rainbows and the Rockies finally winning the World Series or whatever it was men dreamed about.

“Who else?” I brushed by him, marching toward his kitchen island, and flung my jacket on the back of a stool along with my purse. His laptop was open on the counter, some spreadsheet on the screen. I sighed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving beside me.

“No.” I whirled to face him, poking the center of his chest. “You have all my good pajamas.”

He blew out a slow breath. “And you’re here to pick them up?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He gave my suit jacket a pointed look. “Seems like you’re planning on staying.”

I kicked off my shoes with a little more force than necessary. “I might make some nachos before I leave.”

All he said was, “Okay. Do what you need to do. I’ll go get your things.”

Watching him walk away in his cute plaid pajama bottoms made my heart twinge. They were so dorky, but not when he wore them. I was beginning to think Nate could wear a clown suit and make it work.

He returned moments later with a reusable shopping bag stuffed to the brim with my abandoned clothing. I hadn’t remembered leaving so much, but I had spent more nights at his place than my own recently, and I hadn’t bothered taking anything since I’d known I’d be coming back.

He placed the bag on the counter beside my blazer. “I think it’s all in there. Let me know if I missed anything.”

I didn’t know what came over me. Could have been more irrational anger or the finality of it all. Maybe it was how detached Nate seemed. Then again, it could have been the near week of poor sleep and my shittastic mood.

Whatever the reason, I yanked my camisole over my head and tugged off my bra. I shook out the T-shirt on top of the pile, assaulted by the fresh scent of his laundry detergent—because of course this nice bastard had done my laundry—and pulled it on. Then I slipped my pants off, hung them over the back of the stool, and put on the first pair of boxers I found.

Through this demonstration, Nate stared.

I blew my hair out of my face. “There. That’s better.” Then I pulled out the empty stool. “Take a seat. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Nate didn’t sit. He rooted right where he was, watching me take over his kitchen. I’d done this a dozen times since this…thing between us began, but tonight, my movements were jerky and foreign. I wasn’t even hungry, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“Samantha,” Nate uttered. “Stop.”

I exhaled slowly and closed the refrigerator before I could take anything out. Bracing my hands on the counter, my head fell between my shoulders.

“Come here,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking it was an order.

I walked right up to him, my head still hanging low. He wouldn’t allow it, though, nudging my chin up with his knuckles. His eyes darted between mine then swept over me, and he nodded, like he’d come to a decision.

Wrapping his wide palm around my nape, he put his mouth beside my ear. “What you need is a good night’s sleep. You came here for a reason, so what we’re going to do is go to bed now. You’re going to shut your mind off for the night. Whatever you’re thinking about will still be there tomorrow. Now, it’s time to rest.”

My breathing stuttered, then something—everything—in me loosened. I nodded, and my body swayed. His free hand found mine, holding it tight.

“Okay, Nate,” I whispered.

He shut the lights off on the way to his bedroom and led me into his en suite. There, he stood behind me while I brushed my teeth with the toothbrush he hadn’t packed. When I was finished, he made me wait for him while he did the same, then he walked me to his bed.

“We should—”

He tapped my lips. “No. Not right now. Get in bed.”

He sounded a little mad, but I wasn’t afraid of him or his anger. It wasn’t why I climbed into bed. I almost wished I could have used that excuse, but that wasn’t it.

It was him. That voice. The way he looked at me.