Page 38 of Dating After the End of the World
“Casey ...” A small whisper creeps over the blankets and into my ear. “Casey,” he whispers again, but I ignore him.
“I know you’re not asleep, and I know you can hear me. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. Just like what you said back wasn’t fair either. But I forgive you because I know you didn’t mean it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Blake. I did mean it.”
“No, you didn’t,” he argues.
“Yes, I did.”
The room falls quiet and stays that way for a while. My heart rate starts to slow as exhaustion pulls me under. Just before I drift off to slumberland, Blake whispers, “No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did,” I say sluggishly.
He laughs and says, “Good night, Casey.”
I softly smile as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 18
The sound of the door creaking open rips me out of my dream state, putting me on high alert. I listen, trying to visualize the potential threat moving toward me. No noise would mean a burner, sneaking in like a mouse in search of cheese. Labored breathing and the dragging of feet would mean a biter.
A gurgled moan circulates the room and a rancid smell sears into my nostrils, making my eyes water. I bite my tongue to avoid gagging or giving away my presence.
I’ll have one shot at this, one surprise attack I can execute, unarmed, to try to save my life.
I feel the air shift around me, so I know it’s less than a few feet away. In an instant I roll to my other side, flinging the blankets off me as I ready my leg to swing as hard as I can and take the creature’s legs out from under it. But I was wrong. The biter isn’t feet away from me—it’s on top of me. Already midlunge, the gaping maw of a monster closes in on my face, leaving me no time to react. Its teeth sink into my nose, and my mouth immediately fills with blood as I let out a painful, gurgled scream.
“Casey! Casey!” A hand gently shakes my shoulder, rousing me from my nightmare. “Shh. It’s okay.”
I turn to see Blake kneeling beside my bed, his eyes filled with concern.
“What’s going on?” I ask, still confused as to what’s real and what isn’t.
“You had a nightmare. You were screaming and flailing in your sleep,” he says, and I can’t help but notice that his palm is pressed against my cheek, his fingers gently caressing my skin. I’d push him away, but it’s comforting.
“Sorry,” I say, unsure whether I should be embarrassed or relieved that it was a dream.
“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe with me.”
I look into his eyes, and I can see the myriad of meanings behind his words, dancing around as he takes me in.
“Blake.”
“Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to worry.”
He pushes a piece of loose hair behind my ear, and his fingers trace my cheek and chin. My heart races, and I hope it’s not loud enough for him to hear it hammering in my chest.
“I’m not. I mean, not anymore,” I whisper, barely able to admit how safe I feel with him.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, making me feel both nervous and relaxed, like I could fall asleep in his arms or spend the rest of the night awake, exploring every inch of him. Blake leans in a little closer, brushing a finger across my lips, which are already pushed out, searching for moisture. One more millimeter and there’s no going back from—
My bedsheets are violently ripped off me, jarring me awake in a most unpleasant manner. A shiver runs through my sleeping body as it’s exposed to the cold air, and I moan in protest, flailing my arms in search of the now missing warmth. I was still asleep, still dreaming. But why in the hell was I dreaming about Blake Morrison?
“Blake, give them back!” I haven’t even opened my eyes to confirm he’s the one who yanked them away, but I have a solid feeling.
“Rise and shine, Doomsday. We’ve got training to do.” He lightly pats his hands all over me, playing my body like a bongo, strategically skipping over my ass. His fingers graze across a sliver of my exposed lower back, sending a tingle up my spine.
He stops his bongo solo, crosses the room, his boots clomping across the hardwood floor. The curtain hooks scrape against the rod as he throws the drapes open. I wince reflexively, expecting a flood of light to hit my eyelids, but it doesn’t.
