Page 32 of Scoring Grey

“I did.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I could ask you the same.” I toss the question back. I’m not mad. There’s no fucking way I could be angry with her by my side.

Her brow creases as the realization sets in. I crossed one of her boundaries. “No.”

I breathe deeply through my nose, slightly relieving tension I hadn’t realized was slowly building. I have a million things I want to ask. At the top of the list: Does that mean we can start sharing a bed? I know questions like that are futile. She might not be mad, but I know that thought is a stretch. It was only a few days ago that she allowed me to touch her. So instead, I ask, “Did something change?”

“I missed you.”

My heart starts beating triple time as a flood of emotions courses through my veins as thoughts of what missing someone means. Unable to resist, my hand cups her face, my thumb gently grazing her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed. I inch my body closer. “You have no idea how much that confession means to me.”

“I think I might know a little something about it because saying it out loud almost made me sick.”

“Why?” My eyes search hers.

“What if you didn’t miss me back?” Her eyes dart away. “You didn’t say it back.”

“You can’t be serious right now.” I throw my leg over her and pull her close. “The second I called and you didn’t answer, I checked my security camera and booked a red-eye home just so I wouldn’t miss watching you sleep in my bed for the first time.”

Her hand lazily traces the embroidery on the panel of my shirt. “First time,” she repeats. It’s not a question but rather a spoken thought while she flips through our shared history. “This isn’t my first time sleeping in your bed while you’ve been away.”

“No, but it’s the first time I’ve caught you in it. We’ve never shared a bed.” It’s been a dream ever since I met her. We made a baby together and had our fair share of fucking, but never in a bed. It was always quick, parties, locker rooms, cars but never a bed. I tip her chin up. “You really thought I didn’t miss you?”

She gives me a soft smile. “I watched you sleep for five minutes before you opened your eyes. I assumed you came home for one of two reasons. One, you were mad I didn’t answer the phone, or two, you missed me. But when I said it, you didn’t say it back and…” She rolls her lips. “I’m not above fishing for the words I hoped to hear.”

“If my words aren’t confirmation enough”—I subtly adjust my hold so she can feel her effect as I rock my hips into her stomach—“this is what holding you in my bed does to me.”

She pulls in a stuttered breath as my hardened length pokes her, and I see a ghost of my own desire mirrored in her eyes before we hear. “Lou, are you awake yet?” Followed by heavy footsteps thudding down the hall.

Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat before pushing against my chest. “Yeah, I’m awake, but I’m?—”

“Not alone,” Dash finishes her sentence as Eloise sits up in bed.

“Cal caught a late flight home last night,” she says coolly, though I know she’s anything but. She’s acting like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the candy jar, and I’m loving every second of watching how riled up I just made her.

Dash runs his hand through his short golden locks. “Yeah, I can see that.” He gives me a nod in greeting before chucking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll give you guys some privacy. I need to shower anyway.”

“Sure. You know the code already,” Lou says, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them to her chest.

“Yep.” He pops the P as he turns on his heel.

I wait until I hear the front door close behind him, and then I sit up and kiss her shoulder. “We need to talk about that.”

“I know.”

Her quick agreement surprises me. “You do?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay here…” She clears her throat before adding, “In the spare bedroom while he’s in town.” She turns her head toward me, resting it on her shoulder, and asks, “Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you want breakfast?”

“That depends…” My fingers skim down the back of her arm. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Not me.” She grabs a stray decorative pillow and tosses it into my chest. “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll make you something,” she says as she climbs out of bed.

“I don’t expect you to cook for me, Eloise. I can order us something.”

She turns her expression serious. “I want to cook for you. I’ve woken up to breakfast every morning since I arrived. It’s my turn to return the favor. Rest. I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

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