Page 10 of Careless

The pressure in my head sharply increases for a moment and I can’t help the small groan that claws from my throat. I squirm under the covers, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. It doesn’t work. The steel band around my waist tightens.

“Go back to sleep, kid.”

I stiffen at the sound of his groggy voice.

Rian?

Why is he in my bed? He can’t be. That’s impossible. The limbo between being awake and asleep prevents me from thinking rationally. Maybe he’s not really here, and this is a dream. Either way, I don’t want to waste a second of this.

I tuck myself closer into him and pull his arm tighter around me. Something hard pokes my ass, and I still. This dream is pretty realistic.

Oh, my god.

“The only way you can get closer to me is if I’m inside you, so unless you want that, I suggest you stop squirming.” His threat has my panties getting wet. Am I even wearing panties?

Did Rian Walsh just suggest he stick his dick in me?Holy hell.If anything could possibly make me feel desired, it’s that.Yup, I’m definitely dreaming.

My body relaxes in his arms as he finds my hand resting by my pillow then intertwines our fingers. A smile stretches across my face as I bask in the fantasy of this being real. Soon, my mind drifts back into a state where I no longer question anything and I enjoy the fantasy of just him and me, snuggled in bed. The fantasy I can never have.

* * *

The poundingin my head intensifies and slowly pulls me from sleep. My hands fly up, gripping my skull.

It’s official. I’m in hell. This is worse than any hangover I’ve ever experienced.

“Someone kill me,” I mumble, not expecting to hear a masculine chuckle in response.

“You already tried that last night. Perhaps you should get a different hobby. Like painting or not being a total idiot.”

My eyes snap open and I immediately regret it when I’m blinded by the blazing sun intruding into my room.

Wait.

It’s not sunny in my room in the morning. I sneak an eye open and assess my environment. Dark blue walls covered in rock band posters greet me. A large, wooden dresser sits in the corner, clothes peeking out from closed drawers. Then there’s the metal desk where Rian sits.

Rian.

I’ve never been in this room before, but I know exactly what it is. This is Rian’s room. It has his name all over it.

It wasn’t a dream.

He’s only wearing worn, hole-y jeans with his elbows resting on his knees and the steam from the mug in his hands swirling up to caress the stubble on his chin.

I quickly sit up and regret it immediately when it makes the pounding ten times worse. Gripping my hair, I hiss from the pain and do some breathing exercises to regain composure. When I no longer think I may vomit, I lift up the gray comforter and scan my body.

My legs are bare. Good thing I shaved them yesterday. Why am I even thinking about shaved legs? As if that would really make this less awkward. I’m wearing a pair of Rian’s boxers and an old t-shirt of his that I’ve seen him wear a million times.

“What the—” My eyes widen in disbelief and he smirks with amusement.

He knows what’s going through my mind. The bastard.

“Did you change my clothes?” I scowl and wrap the blanket around me, as if that would make me less vulnerable.

“Who else would have?” He chortles. “Your clothes were drenched in sweat. I would have burned them, but you’d look pretty suspicious walking out of here wearing my underwear. And I think we need to talk about your repulsive active wear. A sports bra isn’t a shirt.” He gives me a look that would make lesser females obey. Then, they’d probably get on their knees and beg forgiveness for a crime they didn’t commit. But, not me. I don’t need to put up with him.

Besides, I love my jogging pants and sports bra combo.

“Repulsive? Why? Because, I’m fat.”

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