Page 64 of Conner's Luna

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17 - Blush Hard

When my eyes drift open in the morning I see green ones looking at me sleepily from the other pillow.

"Hi, Conner,"

"Good morning, honeygirl."

"Why are you here?"

"Because I'm selfish and can't stay away."

"That sounds too brutally honest for a Sunday morning."

"I can't seem to lie to you," he murmurs with a wry smile.

"That implies that you try to lie to me."

"Sometimes, honeygirl, I think I'm lying to myself," he tugs on one of my curlers. "What are these?"

"They keep my hair tidy."

His smile is slow and sexy. "I love your hair."

"Don't you dare call it exotic," I warn him.

His smile widens into a grin. "It's sexy as fuck. How's that?"

I squirm away, grumpily telling him, "inappropriate between friends."

He rolls to his back and folds his hands behind his head. "Friends tell each other the truth, Babe. Your hair makes men think of rolling around in bed all day with their fingers in that mane. It's a simple fact."

I snort. "Right, Conner. I've got men knocking down my door." I pause. Last night that was sort-of true.

Conner seems to pick up on my train of thought. "Why was Trey here last night?"

Gasping, I roll over to pin him in place. "Conner! He knows about Jolena and he told me that there were other abductions!"

He goes still. "Trey said that?"

"Mmhm. He said 'abductions,' as in plural."

"There is one other woman missing," he says slowly. "I found out about her last night after you came home."

"How does Trey know about them already?"

"How many does he know about, is my concern, Bails," Conner says absently. "Shit. I have to go, Babe." He rolls off the bed (my pinning skills suck) and starts to pull on his clothes. "My uncle needs to hear this."

"Conner!" I grab his arm as he starts to leave. "I don't mean to be a pest, but I would much rather Dad not find out you slept in my bed last night," I smile sweetly at him, batting my eyelashes.

He looks at me and smirks. "Alright, honey." Leaning over, he kisses my forehead, then leans back with a frown. "Your smell is different," he says grumpily. "Your hair smells like chemicals."

"It's the smoothing lotion in the ties I put in," I say, pulling one of the ties over my shoulder to my nose.

"I thought something was wrong last night. I thought it was just that pencil-dick. Take them out," he demands, tugging on one gently.

"Ah, bossy much?" I say sarcastically. I shove his chest, "go away, Conner. It takes an hour to do my hair on curler days."

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