Page 50 of Sergeant O'
Then another thought hit me: what if he assumed I had come on to him? I couldn’t exactly explain that he’d instigated it without having an explanation why I didn’t stop him.
If he could be having dream sex, why couldn’t I?
With my eyes firmly closed, I rolled over, snuggled into his side, and threw my leg across his for added effect.
Then I reached for his cock over his pajama pants.
Ho-lee shit.
His dick was thick and hard, and I was tempted to reach under his waistband because…dayum.
Then I remembered that I was trying to sell that I was asleep.
And his entire body was completely rigid. He was obviously mortified that I was touching him, so he’d probably shake me awake if I actually attempted to grab the bare thing.
“Mmm, Garrett, yes.”
I whispered the first name I could think of—my ex’s, before rolling away from Brian and pretending to carry on with my dream.
He didn’t move for several seconds, then gently turned over on his side with his back to me.
No matter what I did, as long as I stayed in Haven Springs, I was always going to be the dorky wallflower.
I hugged my pillow and quietly wiped away a tear as it rolled across the bridge of my nose.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brian
I woke to light peeking through the gap in the blackout curtains, and I glanced at the Garmin on my wrist: six-thirty. I still had thirty minutes before my alarm was set to go off.
The events of the middle of the night replayed in my head, and I knew there was no chance I was going to fall back asleep, so I carefully pulled the covers back and slipped out of bed, grabbed my duffle, and headed toward the bathroom. I didn’t turn the light on until I closed the door.
I opted to hold off on showering until she got up because I didn’t want the noise to wake her, but I quickly brushed my teeth and got dressed so I could go in search of coffee.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a continental breakfast in the lobby. I hadn’t expected that with the rate I’d paid.
A few feet from the coffee pot, a woman with a hairnet was changing out an empty silver chafing dish with a full one of scrambled eggs, so I asked her, “How long do you serve breakfast?”
“Until nine.”
“Great, thanks.”
I wasn’t going to eat without Jade, so I sat down with a cup of coffee and opened my DMs.
There were over a hundred, which didn’t surprise me. Most people didn’t have my personal phone number, but my social media was public, at Angus’s insistence that his officers be transparent. Although most of the staff had two accounts—one with their real names where they posted about adopting kittens and puppies, and their interactions with the community, and the other with a fake name for their close family and friends so they could post photos of their kids and whatever other nonsense people shared online about their personal lives.
I only had one account, and I posted the minimum amount I could without having my dad on my ass about it.
I smiled as I scrolled through a few messages. There were kind notes from people in town, letting me know they were praying for a swift recovery for me and wishing me well.
I appreciated them.
There was a lot that could be said about small towns—everyone knew everyone’s business, or thought they did. But Haven Springs residents took care of their own. It was nice knowing they cared.
One sender’s name made me pause:Sylvia Concannon Day.
I didn’t have the energy for that potential rabbit hole and scrolled on without clicking it.
