Page 96 of Beyond the Stroke

A few ideas spring to mind but I push them away.

“No, I’m good.”

I set Edgar down in the bed that Rory bought for him, then head for the bathroom to get ready.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I flip off the light and return to the bedroom.

Rory’s king-size bed is huge compared to the small loft bed we slept on in my van, yet seeing him lying in bed with the sheets bunched at his waist, the smooth skin of his torso partially highlighted by the light from the bedside lamp, I’m suddenly overwhelmed.

“Do you have extra pillows?” I ask.

“How many do you need?”

Rory pushes back the covers to stand and reveals himself in a pair of black boxer briefs.

They’re just tighter versions of his usual shorts, but my brain was not prepared and now I’m struggling to look at or think about anything else.

“What?” I blink, finally pulling my gaze from the space between Rory’s thighs.

“Pillows.” He chuckles. “How many?”

I need to build a fortress. A pillow wall between me and Rory and these dirty thoughts I’m having.

“All of them.”

Another loud, echoing boom of thunder detonates overhead, rattling the windows.

I hate thunderstorms. A gentle rain is nice, but resounding thunder and the hard pelting of rain against the roof is a big nope for me.

Logically, I know there’s no imminent threat. I checked the radar on my phone and it’s just a thunderstorm, but I can’t calm down. With sleep nowhere in sight and Rory snoozing soundly on the other side of the pillow wall I created, I crawl out of bed and sneak past Edgar, who’s oddly not disturbed by storms.

Out in the living room, I turn on the lamp by the couch. With the room illuminated, I can see all my plants lined up on the shelves that Rory had cleared for them.

I randomly select a book from Rory’s collection, pull the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around me.

As the rain pours down outside, I open the book and reread the first page seventeen times. My brain is looking for a distraction, but the words aren’t pulling me in.

“Can’t sleep?”

The voice behind me has me jumping higher than the last boom of thunder.

It’s Rory, leaning against the doorframe. The view of him in his boxer briefs just as enticing as it was earlier.

“What gave it away?” I ask, closing the book.

He walks around the couch and drops down next to me. Even from a few inches away, I sense how warm and solid his body is.

“I didn’t peg you as a storm worrier.”

“I’m not. I just hate how unpredictable it is.”

Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and I can’t help but flinch. Rory takes the book out of my hand.

“Come here.”

My eyes narrow at his motioning gesture. “Come here, what?”

“You’re not going to sleep, so you might as well get comfortable.”

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