Page 52 of King of Pain
For now, I’ll take it. Under this roof, with Chance just a room away, I feel a kind of protection that was always for other people.
I’m damaged, but I’m not oblivious—I’ve seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Like he’d tear the world apart if it meant keeping me safe.
It’s selfish, isn’t it? Staying here when every day, I feel myself inching closer to the edge of something I don’t know how to navigate?
Little G lets out a soft snuffle, his paws twitching in a dream, and I blow out a shaky breath. Maybe it’s okay to let myself feel safe, even if just for a little while.
Maybe it’s time to let my guard down.
TRACK TWENTY•THREE
Talking In Your Sleep
Chance
I wake up to the whirring of the ceiling fan above me. It’s still early—the morning sun just barely making its presence known through the top slot of my blinds. Stretching, I roll out of bed and throw on a pair of sweatpants. No need for a shirt. It’s my apartment, after all, and Ant should probably get used to me shirtless. Smirking to myself, I run a hand through my hair and head out into the living room.
Ant’s still asleep on the couch, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, his face relaxed in a way I’ve never seen on him. He looks… peaceful. Angelic. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is the only movement in the room. Little G is curled up on the floor beside him, the traitor.
I grab his leash, fasten it to him, and tiptoe to the door, careful not to wake Ant. I slip into my slides and get Little G out the door.
The morning air greets us with a crisp chill, a refreshing change now that November has finally brought some relief from the endless heat. I almost need a shirt. Almost.
As we make our way back, Little G’s tail starts wagging faster, probably excited to see Ant. Can’t really blame him.
Back inside, I set my traitorous buddy free from his leash and head to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. The rich aroma fills the apartment as I lean against the counter, waiting for it to brew.
I hear a rustle from the couch and look over as Ant sits up slowly, rubbing at his face and blinking groggily. His hair is mussed, making him look impossibly hotter, and his sweatshirt has shifted slightly, offering me a glimpse of skin just above his waistband. He spots me and freezes, his gaze dropping to my bare chest before darting back up to my face.
“G’morning,” he mumbles as he walks to the kitchen, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.
“Morning,” I reply, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. I hand it to him and watch as he clutches it like a lifeline.
“Thanks,” he hums, taking a big sip.
Fuck, why is that so sexy?
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, leaning casually against the counter, subtly engaging my abs, just enough to make them stand out.
Ant takes another sip, his cheeks tinged pink. “Really well. That couch is way more comfortable than it looks.”
“Good to hear,” I say, grinning. “But I’ll never forgive Little G for ditching me to sleep out here with you. Traitor McTraitorface, Benedict Arfnold, Traitor Tot.”
Ant lets out a hearty laugh, bending down and scratching behind Guinness’s ears as the dog wags his tail furiously.
Same, dog. Same.
Ant straightens and points at me. “You like to give nicknames. Don’t confuse the poor guy. Guiness and Little G are enough.”
I shoot a smile his way. “Just like Ant and Beautiful are enough for you?”
He shifts uncomfortably, then tries to bury his smile inside his coffee mug.
“For the record, there will never be enough nicknames for you,” I risk saying, and move to grab almond milk from the fridge and add a dash to my coffee.
Ant’s still blushing as I offer him some. He nods and holds out his mug.
After taking another long pull from his coffee, he hesitates, his fingers tapping against the side of his mug. “So… uh, I couldn’t help but notice your tattoo. The dove on your lower back. It’s... interesting. Does it mean anything specific?”
