Page 72 of Not Ready

By the time I come out of the shower, they are either asleep or quietly cuddling.

Whatever.

It’s not my goddamn business.

I climb into the bed closest to the door and glare at Mercy. He’s got her on the side nearest to me.

What the hell is wrong with my friends?

I punch my pillow and roll over to face the door.

I’m here now.

I’ll be the obstacle between whatever breeches the door and Vale. I close my eyes and pray for sleep.

You made a promise to Bishop.

Motherfucker.

I roll over, climb out of bed, and aim for the omega.

Mercy is very much awake. He’s wrapped around her back, breathing in her scent from her hair. He yanks his arm out of the blanket and flips me off.

I snort.

Does he really think I want to be doing this?

I mean, she smells really fucking amazing.

She’s also beautiful.

A little vulnerable.

Oh yeah, and super pregnant.

I kneel at the edge of the bed. Brushing the hair back from her face, I study her for a few seconds and lean in to kiss her forehead. Her eyes open and close several times in that lazy way that suggests she’s still mostly asleep.

“Bishop said to tell you he loves you. He’s safe. You can rest easy. He also said that he really enjoyed the little hits of spillover he was getting in the bond.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she says as her eyes close. Yeah, I’ll be shocked if she remembers any of this in the morning. I palm the back of her head and give her one final kiss before aiming for my bed.

I’m obviously fucking exhausted, and it’s making me delirious. There’s no other reason why it’s nearly impossible to force myself to walk away.

I sigh heavily, climbing back into the bed closest to the door.

It feels like I toss and turn for hours as I replay everything that happened today.

That grimy-ass club, the route she took to walk home alone and pregnant, that shithole apartment that doubled as a holding cell.

Sometimes it’s really hard to keep up my faith in humanity.

My instincts are riled as hell.

It’s like an itch all over, trying to convince me that I need to touch and comfort her.

I’ve basically called her a gold digger for the last two years. I’m pretty sure that means I have no right to want to touch her.

I flip over until I’m on my back and cross my arms. The ceiling doesn’t give me a lick of insight into why I’m so drawn to her.

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