Page 77 of Plays Well With Others

But I’m wide awake and itching to run. Before I go though, some sudden impulse in my chest tells me to head to her side of the bed.

To check on her.

Quietly, I pad over in my socks then look down at her, pausing to take in the surreal scene of Rachel in my bed. It’s strange to see my friend like this, but also...wonderful at the same damn time. I never thought I’d see this. Never imagined she’d be here. Never knew I’d like it so much.

Now that she is here, thesenewishfeelings jostle for space front and center in my head.

I really need to run to burn off some of these wild ideas. I glance at the door to the bedroom, leading out to the living room. I should go. I should stop looking at her like a creeper. But a few strands of her brown hair flutter across her lips. She blows on them in her sleep, a subtle but valiant effort to get them off her face.

My heart squeezes. Gently, I brush the strands away, my fingers barely dusting her soft cheek. I don’t want to stop touching her face, but I have to. I let go, then swallow, like I can erase not only the moment but this thrumming in my body.

I’m about to turn around when I catch a glimpse of the bruise on her shoulder. A surge of pride rushes through me, chased by primal feelings of possession.

I did that to her. I left that there. And she loved it. Before I think better of it, I lean down and kiss her bruise, hoping I don’t wake her.

She stirs, but only for a second.

I loved giving this to her. I want to do it again and again. So much that I need to get out of here, stat.

I pop in my earbuds, grab my sneakers from the living room where I left them, then lace up. Once I’m out the door, I text her that I went for a run.

Then I do everything I can to burn off these newish desires.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I swing open the door. Endorphins race through me, sweat slides down my chest, and I am feeling good.

No.

Make that great. Since I’m in my body now, not in my head playing what-if games…

And look at the reward in my kitchen.

Wearing her black shirt and a pair of leopard-print panties, Rachel’s standing at the counter, staring at the espresso machine like she’s found a time capsule fifty years in the future and has no clue what to do with the foreign contents.

“What is this?” she asks, studying the Slayer. She doesn’t say hi. She doesn’t even say good morning. The normalcy of this morning-after moment—the sheer in medias res-ness—hooks into my heart.

This could be us.

I come up behind her and pluck at the back of her panties. “I could ask you the same question. What isthis?”

I can feel her roll her eyes rather than see it. “Cool new invention called underwear.”

I press a kiss to the back of her neck. “These aren’t the ones you wore last night,” I say in a low voice, leading the sexy witness to reveal her secrets.

She shudders against my lips. “I know.”

I kiss her again, murmuring against her skin. “You brought a change with you.”

Why does this excite me so much? We clearly had an ultra-sex un-date scheduled, and she’s clearly a panty planner, and yet the idea that sheknewshe’d need a change is doing that newish thing to me again.

“Had a feeling I’d need them.”

I drag my nose along the side of her neck. She smells good with orange blossom. And, like now, without orange blossom. “Should have brought one more pair.”

On a soft rumble in her throat, she turns around, her back to the counter now, her gaze meeting mine. It’s the first time she’s looked at me since I came in from my run. Her eyes pop as she checks me out. “You’re sweaty.”

She sounds…enchanted.

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