Page 43 of The Drummer

I blink at her in awe before shaking my head. Unbelievable. “Nothing fazes you, does it? Or is it, noone?”

“Probably both,” she replies in a flippant tone. “I’m beat, but not ready to sleep. Want to watch a movie or are you ready to crash?”

That’s an easy question. Only one answer involves spending more time with her.

Just one problem.

“What about him?” I say, staring back at Orin.

With an annoyed huff, she waves toward the loveseat against the far wall.

“Think we can move him over there so we can have the good couch?” she suggests.

I bite back another smile and nod. “Probably. You get his feet. I’ll get the top half.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Callie picks a horror movie. Of course she does.

I couldn’t care less what’s on the screen when she drops down directly beside me. There’s enough room on this couch for ten people, which means this growing attraction isn’t one sided.

A smile plays on my lips as I remember her reaction to my accidental strip tease earlier.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

I school my features and squint at the TV.

“Casey!”

“Shh. I’m trying to watch… what are we watching again?”

She shoves me, and my smile spreads into a grin. Especially when she eases against the backrest, tilted even closer to me. Our thighs are touching, and with her short dress, that’s no easy thing to ignore.

It’s easier than it should be, though, since it’s her scowl when she’s yelling at me I love the most. Luke warned me this would happen. He knows me too well.

I dismiss thoughts of Luke for now. I have to give my headand heart a break if I have any hope of surviving Phase Two of his spiral.

Giving my tortured brain a rest is much easier than usual now that I have the world’s biggest distraction cuddled up against me. I lean down to say something and clamp my mouth shut.

With her eyes closed and lips slightly parted, my pit-bull princess is out cold. I shake my head with a smile. The opening credits are still rolling on this stupid movie.

Now what?

I’m afraid to get up and wake her, but I also can’t sit here without moving for the rest of the night.

I brush some stray hair from her face, hoping she stirs enough that I can shift her to a more comfortable position. When she doesn’t budge, I try a slight skim of her cheek.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

So beautiful it’s making my innocent gestures feel creepy. I shouldn’t be touching her when I’m this attracted to her.

I do my best to shimmy out from under her and gently lower her to the cushions. I grab a decorative blanket flung over the back of the couch and secure it around her.

Curled up and tucked in the fuzzy cocoon, she’s back to being the wide-eyed girl from the diner. It’s nearly impossible not to return to the couch and draw her into my arms. I just want to hold onto her forever. Ensure all the terrible shit that’s happened to me never happens to her.

Case-in-point: the jerk on the other couch.

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