Page 42 of Never Been Worse

Not long after, a yawn leaves my lips, and Wes lets out a deep laugh.

“I should get you to bed. You’re exhausted.”

I shrug, too tired to watch my words. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep in that bed. I kept tossing and turning. I think I got too used to sleeping with you,” I say low, a blush burning over my cheeks.

Wes crosses his arms over his chest, smirking at me. “Is that right, little wife?” I nod, eyes locked on him. “I had the same issue. It’s why I came down here.”

His eyes fire with heat, and a million wisecracks float through my mind, sassy or spicy things I could say to tempt and tease him. I yawn amidst my internal turmoil, and his eyes go soft, his hand moving to fully cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone as he stares at me.

“You’re exhausted,” he says to himself. “You really couldn’t sleep?” I shake my head, too tired to keep the lies in place. He seems to ponder that before answering. “All right.” His hand stays on my chin, keeping my eyes locked on him. “My bed or yours?”

“What?”

“You need to sleep. Maybe a warm body would help. That’s probably your issue.” It’s almost self-deprecating, the look he gives me, removing himself from the equation of why I slept well. “You’d been in a relationship for a long time, you probably got used to it.”

“Wes, Jeremy and I—” I start, suddenly needing to explain, but he shakes his head, a guard going up.

“No, not before you’re about to sleep with me. Don’t bring him here,” he whispers. “Yours or mine?”

My mind weighs my options, already accepting and, admittedly, excited to sleep with Wes. But when I think of lying in sheets and blankets that smell like him, of burying myself in them, cocooning in the smell of him, the answer is obvious.

“Yours,” I say, and he smiles gently before nodding.

“Get what you need from your room, then meet me there, okay?” And without another word or confirmation, he’s walking off, leaving me more confused than ever, a feat I didn’t know could be mastered.

Ten minutes later, in my most conservative yet cute pajamas, face washed and teeth brushed, I’m standing awkwardly in his doorway. Wes is lying in his bed, no shirt but a pair of loose pajama pants low on his hips, lying on top of the blankets and scrolling on his phone. When he notices me, he smiles, setting his phone down and tipping his head to the bed.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you some sleep.”

I do as he asks, settling into the giant bed next to him and taking in as much of the room as I can while he gets up and turns the lights out. When the room is dark, we lay next to each other, an awkward gap between us before he lets out a laugh, shifting and tugging me until my head is on his pec, my hand on his chest, his arm wrapped around my back and holding me close.

It settles instantly, the blanket of calm I felt the morning I woke up like this, a calm I’ve never experienced before in my life. It’s unsettling and beautiful at the same time. Moments pass in silence as Wes’s breathing evens, and sleep quickly and unexpectedly starts to fall over me.

But before I slip completely, I need to tell him.

“Hey, Wes?” I ask softly.

“Mmm,” he hums back.

“I know you said you don’t want him here, but I need you to know. I didn’t sleep with him.” His body goes tighter, a barely noticeable shift, but I track it all the same, and silence takes over the room once more.

I scramble to explain, words falling from my lips, my filter already in dreamland.

“I’ve never been able to sleep with anyone. I’m a light sleeper as it is, I have a hard time falling asleep and…we had separate beds. I couldn’t sleep with him at all.”

A beat passes before Wes’s sleepy rumble fills the room, his hand pushing my hair back, a sigh leaving my lips at the feeling.

“But you can sleep with me,” he says, not a question but a statement.

“But I can sleep with you,” I confirm. With that off my chest, exhaustion creeps up faster, swallowing me whole.

I wake without Wes, and although I’m well-rested, there’s a pit of disappointment in my stomach that I don’t want to admit I feel.

Eventually, I roll out of bed, shuffling down to the kitchen to try and figure out coffee. There's a note on the fridge in messy boy writing telling me Wes is at the studio today and won’t be home until late. I knew they’d be doing a bunch of recording after we got back, finishing up the upcoming album, so I’m not surprised, but the hint of disappointment I’m forced to ignore is a bit concerning.

But most concerning is the way my heart flips when I look in the fridge. There’s a stack of premade cookie dough, a green Post-it on the side.

Some late-night snack options.

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