Page 45 of Perfect Boy

“Look at me,” his deep voice says. And when I don’t look at him, he repeats his words. “Ryann, look at me. Please.”

Craning my neck, I look up at him, my vision blurry from the tears.

His hand cups my cheek. “You know your friend better than anyone. Do you think Sutton is going to give up without a fight?” He gives me the smallest smile. “Because, from what I hear, she’s a pretty tough, badass chick. After all, her last name is Savage.”

I sniffle. “She is.”

“But when she does wake up, she won’t want her best friend looking like a zombie, sitting next to her. Or smelling like an unwashed ass,” he whispers. “Let me drive you home. Or back to my place even. And you can get a few hours of sleep, take a shower, get some food, and then I’ll bring you back after.”

His eyes stare into my soul, like he’s promising me it’s all going to be okay without saying the words. And for the craziest unknown reason, I believe him. Instantly feeling like maybe, just maybe, it really is going to be all right.

“Okay,” I whisper and slowly stand up.

And this time, it’s me who reaches for his hand.

I wake from a deep sleep, but my eyes refuse to open. I have no idea where I am, what time it is—hell, I don’t even know what day it is. All I know is, I feel like I could go back to sleep and stay asleep for ten days.

I wonder what Sutton’s plans are for today. The thought barely crosses my mind when my eyes fly open and I shoot up in bed.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I curse, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

When my hand drops down, making contact with a rock-hard abdomen, I quickly remember where I am.

Watson’s house. In his bed. With him.

And apparently, he’s shirtless.

I reach for my phone, my eyes bugging out when I see the time. It’s eleven in the morning. We got here at three a.m., and I never anticipated I’d sleep an hour. Let alone eight.

I open my messages, finding only a single one from Lana, telling me she just left the hospital and there’s no change. Sutton is in a coma and hasn’t woken up. My stomach drops. Each minute she doesn’t wake up probably reduces the chances she ever will.

I look over at Watson. His head is turned to the side. The light flooding through the window dances across his face, showing off his stubble. His sharp jawline is just another annoyingly perfect characteristic of his. Something that makes him even more stupid hot.

His body is completely chiseled, and even though it’s probably rude, I openly stare. He’s my husband. I’m allowed to check out my husband, right?

I know that every time we kiss or hook up, it only complicates things more. It’ll make it harder to sign those divorce papers. Which is inevitable. How could it not be when we only got married to save my ass? But, on the other hand, the night in the backseat of his truck…it felt so good. It felt right.

Honestly, nothing about it felt wrong.

When he starts to stir, I quickly scooch my body out of the bed and grab my sneakers from the floor. After pulling them onto my feet, I attempt to smooth my hair down, which is completely useless.

“Morning,” he drawls before yawning.

I glance over my shoulder, and even though I hate myself for it, I can’t stop the stupid grin that spreads across my face just from seeing his sleepy smile. A sight I could surely get used to. “Morning.”

“Were you able to get some rest?” he asks softly.

I nod weakly. “I was.”

“Good. I’ll jump in the shower, and then we’ll grab some breakfast.” He looks at the time. “Scratch that. Lunch. I can’t eat breakfast past nine a.m.”

“I should go back to the—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“I know you want to go back to the hospital. And I don’t blame you. But you haven’t eaten anything since before our performance, and as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you don’t wither away to nothing.”

“I’ll never wither away to nothing.” I laugh. “Have you seen my ass?”

“Yeah, I have. And thank God for that. If it did, the world would be a less beautiful place.” He winks. “For real. Fake husband or not, I can appreciate a nice ass.”

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