Imanage to sleep. I don’t really know how.
After Alex came back with a laundry basket of my clean clothes, I retreated into the bathroom to take a shower. Then I crawled under the sheets and pretended like he wasn’t lying next to me, mostly naked since of course he only sleeps in his boxer-briefs. The heat of him made the room feel like an oven.
Or maybe that’s just the claustrophobia of being so near to him.
But it’s strange. I figured I’d be tossing and turning all night—I haven’t exactly been sleeping well since marrying my current husband—but instead, it’s like the moment my head hit the pillow, all my worries drained away.
Out on the couch I felt totally alone and exposed in that big, beautiful living room.
Even in the guest bed, I was extremely aware that there was nobody nearby.
For some sick reason that I don’t really want to analyze, lying next to Alex in his bedrelaxesme.
It should have the opposite effect. I should be squirming and kicking my legs from discomfort and stress.
That’s not what happens.
I feel warm and safe for the first time in a long, long time.
Like just being beside him means there’s somebody that knows me and cares about me.
Like I’m finally not so insufferably alone.
The good feelings last until I wake up to the sound of a power drill.
“What the hell?” I mutter, licking my lips, bleary and confused. The bed next to me is empty and the clock says it’s exactly seven in the morning.
Then the hammering starts.
“What the hell!” I sit up in bed. Alex’s side is perfectly pristine—he must’ve made it while I was unconscious. The hammering starts, and I collapse back down.
Until the drilling starts again.
“This is a nightmare,” I groan as the noise continues for another ten minutes before I finally can’t stand it anymore.
I get up, use the bathroom, and throw on clothes. I find Alex at the front door installing a new deadbolt with multiple boxes of electronic equipment at his side.
I gape at him, trying to understand how a human adult man in his right mind could ever think it’s acceptable to do home improvement tasks atseven in the morning.
“Took you long enough,” he says when he notices me standing there. “You snore.”
I stare at him, only partially awake, and a million retorts rush through my mind.
Unfortunately, he’s presently shirtless and wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans, which makes forming clever comebacks hard as fucking hell.
The man’s sculpted. It’s not remotely fair. He looks like he lives on a diet of boiled chicken, kale salad, and manual labor. He’s got fifty abs, each chiseled, and a chest of iron. Tattoos cover him, snaking along his skin, and I think he’s gotten a few more since the last time I saw him shirtless. His hips make me believe in the concept of divine perfection, and those weird muscles that lead down to his dick make me want to join a nunnery just to get these sinful thoughts from my head.
Instead, I blurt out, “It’s too fucking early for this!”
He grins at me. The bastard knows what he’s doing. “I waited long enough,” he says with a shrug. “I wanted to start an hour ago. I let you sleep in instead.”
My eye bug out. “What the hell are you even doing?”
“Installing a security system.” He gestures at the boxes. “State of the art sensors and locks.”
“How? Why? Where thehelldid you get all that?”
“Tools. To keep you safe. And I got a guy.” He taps his drill against his shoulder. “Are you done staring at me like you’re a horny teenager? Can I get back to work?”