Page 22 of Beyond the Fame

“No, you’re just drunk,” I lie and quickly add, “I’ll get you some water.”

I leave before he can call my bluff. By the time I return, Jensen is in bed, pajamas on, his back against the headboard, and sheets covering his waist.

I hand him a hotel-provided bottled water, and he gulps it all down within seconds before placing the empty bottle on the table next to the bed.

“Sleep with me,” he demands, grasping my hand.

“Hell no.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, not sex. Just sleep.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“You’re crazy.” I turn to walk away, but his grip on my hand tightens.

“Please, Rebecca,” he asks in a whisper.

Ugh. Why did he have to say my name again? Does he realize the power he possesses by using my actual name instead of Becky? Except, right now, he’s not making a power play. He’s... vulnerable. Or maybe it’s the booze. Either way, the desperation in his eyes squeezes my heart.

I give him a curt nod.

He lets out a shaky breath, then smiles wide and scoots over. He holds open the sheets for me to get in.

Jensen snuggles up to my side, laying his arm across my waist and tangling his legs with mine. His beard scratches my arm and I barely stop myself from petting it. I breathe him in—his boozy breath, his sweat mixed with that alluring amber, honey, and citrus scent that I can’t get enough of.

He’s knocked out cold within seconds. The heat radiating off his body wraps around me, and I relax. A few minutes pass and I fall asleep too.

Chapter 6 - Jensen

I wake on a gasp and pain rips through my skull. I groan as I flop over onto my stomach. Am I dying?

What the hell happened last night?

What did I do?

Did I really cuddle with Rebecca until we both fell asleep?

I hate cuddling.

But I loved cuddling with her.

My arm slides out to the other side of the bed.

Cold.

She left me. Of course she did.

I lift my head and spot a glass of water and two pain pills sitting on the table next to the bed.

She left me, but she thought of me.

The ache of abandonment fades, replaced with a feeling I'm not used to—something I was denied growing up.

I roll myself out of the bed, groaning some more when I sit up. After popping the pills and washing them down with the entire glass of water, I rest my elbows on my knees and rake my hands over my face and through my hair.

I'm an idiot.

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