Page 32 of His Pretty Little Duet

That derailing went full circle quickly. I squint ahead at the dark ceiling, finding his memory easily, aperfectpicture of him with thatperfectHollywood smile. How to explain such a thing. A non-existent relationship that still ended in a baby. "There's this boy... I likedhim... and I think he liked me, too. We had known each other for years, but he always had a girlfriend.A different one each month, butIwas a constant in his life. And there was never any proof he liked me except ... when we were out, he'd always offer things to me first before any of his girlfriends.

"At the movies, it was the popcorn, a sip of his Mountain Dew. At dinner, he'd pass me the pizza box first, or he..." I frown as I talk, sorting the information in my mind, reaching for the outcome I want even as the reasoning is pathetic. Sadness slips into me. My voice wobbles as I think about him and all the things we will never say or feel. "He always offered me everything first as though to say to his girlfriend that I am his first choice, only, it wasn't appropriate."

She hums in thought. "Or he was using you to make his girlfriend jealous because he knew you liked him. You know, the whole 'treat em mean to keep em keen' thing."

I despise that explanation.

Flipping to the other side on a small groan, I stare at the ribboning blackout curtains, wishing for a peaceful sleep away from Benji and everything else. "No," I press, needing to fight her annoying insight. "He'd risk looks at me. He'd give me this...smile...but being together would be inappropriate because heis"—I swallow the wordwas, not needing more questions about that—"my foster brother."

I hear her confused pause. "You’re not related, though. Is he the dad?"

I answer honestly, because fuck it, why not? "I think so."

Yes. He has to be.

Giving up on the charade of sleep, I crawl from the bed. "I'm going for a walk. Do... Do you want to come?" I offer.Please say no.I like her, but I want to see if Clay is awake again but only so I can stare at his blue eyes and manly hands that can snap necks, and not think about Benji using me to 'keep his girlfriend'skeen.'Or the way his body looked impaled on the leg of the coffee table?—

"Nah. I'm going tosextmy boyfriend while you're gone. We used to do it every night, but it feels awkward typing, "I'm dreaming of your manhood," when someone else is tossing and turning in their sleep."

Okey dokey.

Too much information.

I leave the room, waving at Henchman Jeeves as I meander off, without saying a word, down the hallway. Not caring about feigning my pretence to see the moon, I search the house to see if he is awake. I follow the lights again until I am in a new area of the house, looking down a dimly lit hallway.

At the end of it, a door opens. As he walks through it, his chest sweaty and bare, on instinct, I almost turn to dart off in the other direction.

This was a bad idea.

Crush and jealousy for the win.

Goddamn it.

Amidst my own scolding session, I do a strange stop, turn, shuffle, and then turn back to face him, looking sheepish and awkward. No cool person has ever done that dance in the face of their completely inappropriate crush.

His dark brows pinch in. "Do I need to instruct Bolton to keep you in your room at night?"

Bolton? Oh right—HJ.

I square my shoulders, feeling naïve strength for a moment because, under that unaffected façade, I think he's hiding something. He gives a shit. It doesn’t have to be much. A tiny crumb of consideration is like gold to me. "You don't sleep either, though."

"Excuse me?" He walks towards me, slow, measured strides that are meaningful; his every action has purpose and power.And when he stops close, I can feel the heat from his powerful bare torso.

I arch my neck, keeping his blue gaze locked to mine. Somehow, I find my confidence, whispering to him, "He doesn't eat. Hardly sleeps. If you were my property, I'd bend you over my knee."

Oh. My. God.

I'm dead.

A soft smile ticks a corner of his mouth. "You amuse me. Do you use humour to deflect?"

"Sometimes..." I admit as he strolls past, heading away, but my heart doesn't want our interaction to end so quickly. "Why don't you sleep?" Spinning to chase him with my gaze, I watch him stop midstride as my question sails across the dark space between us.

He turns to face me, his features hard to see in the dense low light. "No one has asked me that before."

That makes me sad, and I wonder how that can be. Doesn't his wife ask why he isn't in bed? "Well...Iam."

A small stream of light glows around his silhouette as he states plainly, "I have nightmares."

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