Page 32 of Broken-Hearted

He’s flat on his back, arms wide, and mouth gaping open.

It’s a good impression of a person asleep, but it’s not real.

“Nathan?” I nudge his shoulder.

He snores loud enough to wake a sleeping bear.

“Nathan!” I yell in his face.

Nothing.

Annoyed, I get on the bed, straddling him.

His eyes snap open, and there’s not even a hint of tiredness in them.

“I knew you were faking.” I poke his chest.

“You’re sitting on me.” His voice is husky.

Probably not a good idea. But I’ve done it now, so I might as well make the best out of a terrible decision. It’s not the first time I’ve done something stupid, and I doubt it’ll be the last.

“Nope. You fell asleep when we were talking, so this is a dream.” It feels good to sit on Nathan Blackshaw. And it feels even better with him staring up at me like he really is in a dream.

“I didn’t fall asleep,” he says, clasping my hips with warm, strong hands.

Despite the dangers of letting this—whateverthisis—continue, I don’t order him to unhand me.

“You definitely fell asleep, Blackshaw. We were talking about a certain kiss, then you started snoring and now… well, this is where we are. In dreamland.”

Nathan moves me onto my back. He rests his chin on his palm, but keeps his right hand on my hip. “I see. If this is a dream, whose dream is it?”

With the way he’s rubbing his thumb on my bare hip, it would definitely be mine.

If we’re both pretending this is a dream, then why not continue pretending for a little while longer? It’ll be a safe way to test the waters of seeing if Nathan Blackshaw kisses as well as I think he might. What happens in this motel room can stay in this motel room. Never to be spoken of ever again.

“Since you fell asleep, this must be your dream,” I tell him.

His eyes dip to my mouth and his gaze is hungry as he slowly shakes his head. “Nope. In my dream, things would not be progressing like this.”

“Then how would they?”

He lifts his head, and the corners of his eyes crease in a smile. “You’re determined to get me to spill all my secrets, aren’t you, peach?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

He grins at me. “So what happens in this dream of mine, then?”

I shrug, feigning a casualness I’m not even close to feeling. “Maybe we kiss.”

“Ah.” He takes his hand off my hip and strokes his chin thoughtfully. “So who does the kissing?”

“Depends,” I say, missing his touch immediately.

“See, I’m not convinced this is my dream, though a kiss from you is definitely in the realms of best dream ever.”

It’s a sweeter response than I was expecting. “But?”

“It would have to be something we both wanted.”

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