Page 68 of The Bad Wedding Date

“It smells amazing.”

“The benefits of living above a florist.”

“I like it.”

I raised a brow in question.

“It’s got character. Anything with character usually wins over my heart. Most things are the same these days. Everyone wants the minimalistic lifestyle. People are losing character to fit in.”

I let the door shut behind me, dropping my key and purse on the coffee table and planting my hands on my hips.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” I asked.

“I’m pretty tired.” He rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. “I haven’t slept for quite some time.”

“Oh, sure. You should go. Get some rest.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“Fraser, I’m—”

“If you say you’re fine, I’m going to give you a reason not to be.”

That shouldn’t have sounded as enticing as it did, but I laughed quietly anyway, and it earned me a small smile from him. I turned my palms over and threw my hands in the air.

“What do you suggest, then? You want to take a nap on my sofa?”

“You don’t have a spare bed?”

“Just the one bed, unfortunately.” I swallowed as carefully as I could, trying not to imagine him in my bed and failing miserably. “And I… well… I’ll need to sleep before I go to work. Kinda low on the old zzzs myself.”

His smile grew, an appealing form of arrogance shining from him that didn’t turn my stomach sour the way that type of self-assurance did from the likes of Tristan or Penn.

“I’ll take the couch, as long as you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure you’ll be comfy? It’s a small sofa. You’re a big guy.”

“I’d definitely prefer a bed, but since you’re not offering that, the couch will be fine.”

“As my self-appointed bodyguard and employee now, it’s probably unethical for me to invite you into my bed as your boss.”

He pushed his lips out and nodded, which only made me laugh more. I had to get out of this stare off before I broke and spread myself on the floor for him to use at his own will.

Walking over to him, I patted his chest twice, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath my palm. “Make yourself at home. Eat whatever food you can find. Use the bathroom whenever you need to. Watch whatever you want on the television. If you need me, I’ll be right through that door on the right. Just shout.”

“You make sure you shout for me, too, should you need… anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” I teased, earning a small growl from him before I somehow found the strength to walk away and go to my bedroom.

I shut the door and pressed my body and hands to the back of it, closing my eyes as I lifted my chin to the heavens.

“Please don’t let me be weak, Lord. Please don’t let me be weak.”

After a few minutes of quiet prayer to a god I only called on when it suited me (and then wondered why he didn’t answer my requests, like the big, fat user I was) I climbed on top of my extremely comfy mattress. It was one of the only things I’d ever splurged on because comfort in sleep mattered more than any other time. I didn’t even bother to take my clothes off, apart from kicking off those trainers, quite liking the slight hint of Fraser’s aftershave I could smell on the jumper, along with the hint of the ocean breeze.

I curled on my side, tucking a hand under my pillow and bringing my other thumb up to my mouth so I could chew on it as I tried my hardest not to think about what he might look like laid out on my sofa, asleep. All that muscle. Those tattoos. That blond, perfectly structured beard tickling my cushions.

What he might look like taking a wash in my bathroom or sticking his head in my fridge to see nothing much but sliced meats and several bottles of wine.

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