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I sleepwalked. But that still doesn’t explain why I’m lying beside her.
Maybe I can sneak out.
Moving slower than a drunk slug, I slide out from under the covers and ease off the mattress to keep it from bouncing.
I’m in pajama pants, and a certain part of me clearly missed the memo about keeping things professional.
Good thing she didn’t see tha—
“Good morning,” she says, yawning.
I freeze. If I stand perfectly still, maybe she’ll mistake me for furniture.
“Rhett? You okay?”
“Morning,” I reply, keeping my back to her.
“You gonna turn around?”
“Nope. Fascinating wallpaper, though.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway, big challenge tonight.”
I start to walk out, but she stops me with “How often do you sleepwalk?”
My shoulders fall, and my voice drops before I can stop it. “It hasn’t happened in a long time. I hope . . . I hope I was a gentleman.”
“You were.”
“I didn’t say anything rude?”
“No, you didn’t.” I hear Cristina push the sheets away and the groan of springs as she rises. “You said you couldn’t sleep or else . . . something bad would happen.”
The words punch me in the gut. “Well, I hope you don’t believe the ramblings of a sleepwalker,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, but my voice comes out strained, like I’m fighting myself.
She doesn’t say anything, like she’s waiting for me to tell her the truth, and part of me aches to reveal everything—don’t ask me why, I hardly know her. Whatever’s drawing me to her, it’s a rope I can’t break.
I hear movement and she taps me on the shoulder. “You’re a good cuddler.”
I whirl around, forgetting about my “situation.” I look down. She looks down. Her face reddens. I snatch a pillow from the bed and cover myself.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“See what?” she says with a smirk, re-creating our first conversation when I caught her stuffing the inhaler down her dress.
“I see what you did there.”
A sly smile graces her face. “I remember.”
“So you do.”
Our gazes lock for a beat, and I want to ask what happened, what I did, what I said.
Damn, I’m mad at myself for not remembering cuddling with her—touching her smooth skin, absorbing her warmth.
If there’s a hell, this is it.
