Page 5 of Built for Dreams

I grabbed a bottle of water from the case by my dresser and set it on the nightstand along with two Advil. After checking on her one last time, I headed into the bathroom to get a shower, washing the smell of grill smoke and meat off my skin and out of my hair.

She was still asleep once I emerged from the bathroom, breath fresh, a pair of sweatpants riding low on my hips. I gently pushed her hair back from her face, a soft smile tilting my lips.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I whispered, leaning down to brush my lips across her forehead.

Then, I snatched an old afghan out of the top of my closet and padded barefoot over to the chair in the corner, getting ready for a long, stiff night of sleeping in the chair.

four

Selma

My head was splitting open.I was pretty sure when I opened my eyes, I was going to see blood all over the very comfortable pillow my head was currently resting on; that was how badly it was throbbing.

Groaning, I pulled the covers over my head. The scent of spicy cologne and men’s soap infiltrated my nostrils, and my eyes snapped right back open, my heart skipping a beat in my chest.

I wasnotin my bed. That much was clear. Especially since my pillows werenotthis comfortable. These were clearly expensive pillows. Mine were the cheapest ones I could get from Walmart and were at least seven or eight years old and flatter than a pancake.

I slowly pulled the covers down from my head and took in the plain room around me. Only the minimal filled the small room—a chair, a dresser, a desk, the bed I was laying on, and two nightstands. I could hear the shower running behind one of the doors, and a pair of boots rested by the room door.

Slowly, I sat up, wincing in pain. Vomit lurched in my throat, and I drew in a deep breath, willing my stomach to settle. I did not want to throw up all over this bed or the floor.

The shower turned off. I slowly made my way to the edge of the bed, moaning low in the back of my throat at the pain. I shouldn’t have drank yesterday. As it was, I was a lightweight, and judging by this headache, I had gonewaypast my limit.

As a thirty-three-year-old woman, I should have known better.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out as Remi walked out. His chest was broad and covered in a light dusting of hair. His abs ripped as he moved, and those muscular arms flexed as he quietly tugged open a dresser drawer.

“Um…” I roughly cleared my throat. Remi turned to face me, a pair of jeans in his hand. I flushed, trying hard to keep my gaze focused on his face. But damn, his body was distracting. All hard planes, thick biceps, tight abs… “Why am I in your room?” I croaked, my voice easily giving away how much his near-nakedness affected me.

His lips quirked up at the corners. “You drank yourself just about sick last night. You passed out.”

I cringed. “I’m not a drinker,” I confessed.

Remi chuckled. “So I figured out.” He held up his jeans. “Give me a minute to get dressed. I set out a bottle of water and some Advil on the nightstand for you.” He nodded his head in the direction of the nightstand, which seemed to be the one actually used since it had a pen, an open pack of gum, and a phone charger lying on it. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He disappeared into the closet, shutting himself inside. A light flicked on inside it, seeping from beneath the crack under the door. Turning, I grabbed the bottle of Advil and popped two out before unscrewing the top from the water. After swallowing the two blue pills, I greedily gulped down the water, feeling a little better once I was hydrated.

Remi emerged from the closet wearing a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeve black t-shirt, holding a small stack of clothes in his hand. He held them out to me. “Go take a shower. It’ll help you feel better. When you get out, come downstairs and have breakfast.”

“I don’t know if I can stomach food,” I told him honestly as I stood from the bed, taking the clothes from him. My fingers brushed his, and I swallowed thickly when tingles raced through my fingers and up my arm. His hands were rough and calloused, and I desperately wanted to feel them running over my body.

Get a grip, Selma.

But shit, he was taking care of me. Being nice. There was a teasing glint to his eyes, but something about him screamed that he wasgood. Someone who could be trusted. And I’d been alone for so long—no family, no boyfriend, no friends—that I wanted him to be someone I could lean on.

But I also didn’t want to eventually get let down.

“Go on,” he said softly as I took a step back from him. “Use whatever you need.”

With that, he smiled at me and made his way to the door, leaving the room. I blew out a soft breath and headed into the bathroom. It was still warm from his shower and smelled like his body wash. A shiver ran through my body.

Get yourself together, Selma. A man like Remi will never want an older woman like you.

* * *

The shields I’d put up around my heart came tumbling down the moment I walked downstairs. Remi was sitting at a table, working on what looked to be some kind of finances, and he had a steaming cup of coffee and a Mcdonald’s bag sitting in front of the chair that was beside his.

“Sit. Eat,” he told me, nodding toward the chair. “The food and coffee is yours.”

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