Page 64 of The Late Hit
“Go up there, Quinton. She’s going to be glad you stopped by.”
Nodding my head at her, I make my way up the stairs. Pausing outside her door, I listen for anything coming from her room. The only sound is from the TV. Her door is cracked, and I slowly nudge it open. My eyes find two bodies in her bed real quick. Both of them are lying in her bed. Brynn is wrapped up in his embrace, sound asleep. Cody is just lying there, watchingHome Alone 2. That should be me. That should’ve been me comforting her all day. Instead, she kept pushing me away.
Cody’s gaze flicks my way, startled.
“Shit, Q,” he whispers. “You scared the fuck out of me.”
I don’t say anything, just stare him down, my eyes bouncing from his to where his arm is wrapped around my girl. He must sense my mood. Apparently, my face is giving away every thought tonight.
“Relax, Q,” he says with an eye roll. “I need to head out, I was hoping your ass would show up. Come take my spot.”
Slowly, he untangles himself from Brynn’s long limbs. She stirs but never wakes. While I’m waiting for him to remove himself from her bed, I take in the chaotic state of her room. There are empty beer bottles, a baggie with a joint, pizza boxes, and tissues strewn around the room. Cody slips his shoes on before pointing toward the door. With a shake of his head, I step into the hallway with him.
“How is she?” I ask.
“She’s hurting. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s just…” He pauses, looking back into the room. “Numb. Take care of our girl.”
I groan at his possessive comment. “My girl.”
“Yeah, Q, whatever,” he says, running his hand down the back of his neck. “I care about her too.”
And with that, he leaves, and I make my way into her room. Sliding out of my jeans, I slip under the covers in my boxers and T-shirt. She rolls into my body immediately, her head running up and down my side.
“Quinton?” she asks in a sleepy voice.
“Hi, beautiful,” I answer, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. After tasting her in Chicago, I can’t keep my lips off her. I want to kiss her again. “I missed you.”
Wrapping her arms tighter around my stomach, I can feel her smile against my skin.
“I missed you, too. Don’t leave me, okay?”
“I’m here, baby.”
And with that, she drifts back off to sleep. My girl in my arms once again. Even though she’s hurting. Even though it’s killing me that she’s in pain. I’m going to be happy. The air has shifted around us. And right before I drift off, I feel her pull herself closer to me, snuggling into my skin, burying herself even deeper in my soul.
Myhandtightensagainstsomething hard. My face isn’t pressed against my soft pillow—it’s pressed against something warm and hard. Of its own accord, my hand tightens. A low grunt fills the room.
Last night starts coming back to me. I remember Cody and me spending the rest of the day in my bed, watching movies, devouring snacks, and me crying endlessly.
But—wait—he’s not who I fell asleep with last night.
No. Quinton came. While I was sleeping, he lifted the covers, his warm body sliding next to mine. Before I drifted back into a deep slumber, I remember pulling him tighter against me. Comforting me. Bringing me back to reality. Letting me know that I’m okay. I’m always okay with him. He’s my lifeline, my safety blanket, the one who always brings me comfort when I need it.
He makes another grunting sound. And oh god—that’s when I realize it. Immediately my fist relaxes as I jerk up from my sleeping position. Cheeks flaming. My hand was on him. As in his morning wood.
Oh god.
Mentally I facepalm myself and want to curl under the covers.
Oops.
“Oh god, Quinton,” I rasp out. “I didn’t. I, uh, I didn’t realize I was holding you. I mean, I knew you were there, but I—uhh—I didn’t realize my dick, oh god, not mine but your dick was in my hand.” Stuttering the words, I feel the heat spread from my face, down my neck, to my chest. I’m mortified.
What’s with my hand always finding a dick to squeeze when I’m sleeping? Some people have comfort blankets, I have comfort cocks.
He laughs. Quinton opens his eyes and starts laughing. I don’t think it’s funny. Certainly not funny enough to warrant him cracking up at my embarrassment.
“It’s fine, B. I thought I was dreaming.”
