Page 50 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
Iwake up in a bed that's not mine.
Turner’s bed.
Turner’s room.
I roll onto my back, blinking against the pale morning light leaking in through his blinds, half-expecting to find his stupidly handsome face tucked into the pillow beside me.
But his side is empty.
The sheets are cold.
The weight of him—gone.
I sit up slowly, adjusting my tank top over my stomach, breathing in the smell of him lingering in the air. Cologne. Body wash. Whatever it is, it's disorienting how comforting it is. How much I miss the warm feel of his solid body lying next to me.
God.Last night.
It was?—
It felt…
So nice.
So easy.
The kind of easy you don’t realize you’re starving for until you finally get a taste of it and then all you can think about is how badly you want more.
Just me, my thundering heart, and the desperate need to scream into my pillow like a teenage girl!
Gah!
I shift on the mattress, pulling the covers up to my waist, palms pressed against the cool fabric where Turner slept.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I breathe him in one last time (because apparently my soul is in full feral mode this morning) then force myself to get up out of the bed.
I tiptoe to the door and peek out, peering down the hallway like a criminal even though technically, I live here.
Technically.
For now.
The coast is clear.
No Turner.
I scurry into my own bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind me before grabbing my phone off the nightstand.
Unlock.
Open texts.
Me: I slept in Turner’s BED!!!!
I send it before I can chicken out, dropping the phone onto the mattress like it’s a live grenade.
It buzzes back within seconds.
Of course it does. This is my bestie, and she knows an emergency when she sees one.
