Page 39 of Mess With Me

But holy hell, would the woman just go to sleep already?

It’s not until she closes the bedroom door—and promptly opens it again—that I sit up, irritation rumbling.

“Sasha. You okay?”

“Yes,” she whispers from the bedroom, the springs creaking as she gets back on the bed.

“What do you need?”

She hesitates. “I can’t sleep.”

My chest clenches. Fuck. She’s scared. Of course she’s scared. What a fucking day. “How can I help?”

“I just…I think I might sleep better if you were closer.”

My stomach flips like a teenager’s.Calm the fuck down, boy.

“Uh, I could sleep on the floor in there,” I offer. It wouldn’t be difficult—I’ve slept on worse.

“Seriously?”

I frown. “That wouldn’t work?”

“You could just be a grown-up and sleep in the bed.”

“Sasha, I—”

“I’m not going to come onto you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t worry.”

She makes a sound I can’t interpret. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” She disappears into the shadows of the room.

I don’t move.

Then I feel like an ass. I’m a grown man. And she’s been through hell.

I get up and walk over to the other side of the bed.

I can hardly see her in the dark, so I’m not sure if she knows I’m there. “Sasha?”

The bed shifts.

“I just want you to feel safe.”

“I know,” she whispers.

My heart beats a hair faster.

“It’s a big bed,” she says.

She’s right. It is. Before I can change my mind, I flip back the covers and lie down. It’s only after I grasp the sheet that I realize I’m not wearing a shirt. I go to get up, but she whispers, “Thank you.”

She says it as if this is some kind of hardship.

“You don’t have to keep saying that,” I say.

“I want to.”

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