Page 22 of Play the Last Track
Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.
***
Darkness settles around me again as I lie flat on my back, my legs going still as I force myself to stop moving. I’ve been tossing and turning since I turned out the light over an hour ago. My thoughts are stuck on the woman down the hall—if she’s comfortable, if she needs anything. I turn my head, staring through the darkness in the direction of my closed door. I hate sleeping with a closed door. It makes me feel … claustrophobic.
I got drafted straight out of college and moved to Boston. With my signing bonus, I bought my own apartment, and I lived alone. For the first time in my life, when I came home every day, there was silence. Not the echo of my parents fighting, not the echo of Scott’s moody grumbling under his breath as he studied in our dorm. Just me and the silence.
It was nice. I liked the quiet. Still do, whenever I’m in the safety of my own home.
But it was almost too quiet at night. With the door shut, boxing me into my bedroom even though the apartment beyond it was completely empty, I felt too closed in. So one night, I opened the door and I haven’t looked back.
I wonder if that’s weird. Do other people sleep with their bedroom doors open?
I groan, turning over in bed again and burying my face deep into the pillow. I squeeze my eyes shut and slow down my breathing. I count the seconds for every inhale and exhale, trying to force my heart rate to settle.
It doesn’t work.
Sighing, I shove the covers off my legs and swing them over the side of the bed. I don’t bother with my sweats, simply readjusting the black briefs I wear to bed and tugging my door open.
Fuck it.
Katie or no Katie, I cannot sleep with my damn door shut.
I glance toward the end of the corridor at the other bedroom door on this floor. It’s firmly shut, and there is no light coming from underneath it.
She’s asleep.
I run a hand over my face, my body wired for some unknown reason. Well, sort of unknown. I am almost certain it is due to the woman living under my roof who knows exactly how to get under my skin. Taking the stairs, I decide a glass of water will be best to cool down.
There’s a faint light coming from the entryway, from a lamp that I also have on. It’s a vintage find, gold brass with fabric covers. It even has one of the dangling strings that you pull to switch it off and on. My mom is always eyeing it off and telling me how gorgeous it is whenever my parents come to stay.
I wonder if Katie likes it?
Maybe, if she doesn’t, I should just give it to Mom then?
I halt, staring at the lamp and shaking my head furiously to myself. What the actual fuck.I wonder if Katie likes it?
I shouldn’t care if she does.
I should not give one fuck what she thinks of my décor or my house, or the way I’ve styled the four guest bedrooms.
Still shaking my head, I head down the corridor. I expect to find the space empty, but I’m greeted by the outline of a woman sitting on my countertop, silhouetted by the light pouring out from the open fridge.
Her hair is messy now, the normally tame and perfectly curled waves all over the place as they fall down her back. It’s long too, almost at her waist. A flash of those same blonde strands wrapped tightly around my fist, me kneeling behind her, and her eyes flashing at me as she looks over her shoulder, flashes in my mind, and it makes my cock jolt awake.
I ignore the feeling and clear my throat, making my presence known as I cross the open room toward her.
“Fucking hell.” Katie jumps, cursing as her head whips around to stare at me, her eyes wide.
“Sorry,” I say as I round the corner. I don’t stop to look over at her, going straight to one of the cupboards for a glass.
“You scared me,” she mutters, and I can feel her eyes boring into my back.
“Again, sorry.”
A beat of silence, and then, “It’s your house. You don’t have to be sorry.”
Something in her voice makes me glance over at her. The faucet keeps running, and as I take her in, I feel the water spill over ontomy hand. Now that I’ve looked, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her, so I shut it off, place the over-filled glass down in the sink, and feel around for the teatowel hanging over the cupboard door.
