Page 28 of Wild Hearts

My relaxed state doesn’t last long, though, when all the water from yesterday catches up to me, and my bladder screams for relief.

Shouldn't I be dehydrated?

I try not to wake Wes, but he tenses around me while I'm extracting myself.

"Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, just have to pee," I say, slightly embarrassed despite it being a completely normal human function.

His arm lifts to let me go, but as soon as I return, he raises the cover and rumbles, "Come back to bed."

Wes’s sleep roughened voice twines around my heart, and instinctively, I obey his command, carefully situating myself while he resumes his slumber behind me. His arm and leg sneak back around my body, but I don't mind.

We still need to have a conversation about what exactly we are to each other, but that can wait. I'm too content with what we are right now.

***

When I wake up again, Wes is gone.

Sitting up with a yawn, my curious gaze travels around his room. He doesn’t have much. A lone bed, dresser, and nightstand fill the master bedroom. No pictures or plants. Nothing personal.

Wes saunters into the room as I cover another yawn, and the sight of his tattooed body in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt really shouldn’t be such a turn-on.

At least not after a horrendous night of being sick.

"You're awake. How do you feel?"

“Better.”

“Good. I’ll bring you a piece of toast and some juice. We’ll see how you handle it,” he says before retreating.

Not wanting to be away from him, I gather his pillow and blanket then carry them to the living room couch with me. The space is half-complete by the looks of the carpet partially pulled up at one corner and different patches of paint on one wall.

"What are you doing?" The demanding tone snaps me out of my perusal of the work in progress.

"I want to stay warm, and your couch doesn't have any pillows." Sadly. I'll have to get some for him, because how comfortable could a couch be without throw pillows?

Buying things for a man's house is serious. You're still on the fence about his feelings, remember?

“You belong in bed. I would’ve brought breakfast to you.” Wes shakes his head and brings a small plate with two pieces of toast and a little glass filled with orange juice to my spot on the couch.

He steps over an open toolbox. “Sorry for the mess. I’m in the middle of a long renovation.”

He sits beside me and flips on the television, switching channels until Saturday morning cartoons appear on the screen.

I finish half of my breakfast, afraid to eat more even though my stomach has lost that nauseous feeling. I must’ve had a weird twelve-hour bug or maybe ate something weird to suddenly get sick last night.

Just my luck.

Everyone seemed friendly at the MC compound, and I wouldn't have minded getting to know Luna, Lindy, and Caroline better.

Too bad my stomach had other plans.

After breakfast, sleep must claim me again, because when I wake up, I’m laid out on the couch with my legs in Wes's lap. I try pulling them back, but he stops me with a firm grip on my ankle.

"It's fine. Now, you're not so scrunched up over there." His calloused palm strokes my leg absentmindedly as he continues to watch the television screen.

"I haven't shaved."

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