Page 71 of Too Safe

“You’re okay. You’re safe. You don’t have to sleep on the floor. No fucking way.”

I release a breath and will myself not to cry. I hate when people are nice to me. Kind. Compassionate. Because it never lasts.

“You’re okay,” he repeats as his fingers brush against my skin and the edge of his thumbnail traces my lower lip.

I quickly catch my lip between my teeth to stop it from trembling. His kindness is disarming. I never imagined that he’d offer to take the floor, especially considering he has a game tomorrow. But maybe he’s one of those guys who can sleep anywhere.

“Thank you,” I murmur, racking my brain for a way to verbally express the extent of my gratitude.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s a straightforward exchange. The kind of pleasantries typically offered up without thinking. But the simplicity of the words adds to the authenticity of the moment and the tether between us.

He’s still holding my face, caressing my lower lip as he homes in on my mouth. I let my lip slide out from between my teeth, and something hot and fiery flares behind his eyes with the motion. Gulping, I clear my throat, then shift back on my heels slightly.

Just enough to break the spell we’re both under.

And with that, Decker blinks back to the moment, too. He cracks his neck, then nods to himself once.

“Pick which side you want. I’ll see if there are extra pillows in the closet.”

Oh.

Shit.

Chapter 27

Josephine

I’vereplayedhiswordsover and over in my head, searching for a way to pin this predicament on him. I keep coming up short.

Decker wasn’t deceptive. His words weren’t unclear. He said I didn’t have to sleep on the floor.He never offered to give up the bed.

My body thrums with anxiety as I lie only inches from Decker Crusade. Sure, there’s a pillow dam between us, and the bed is technically big enough for two people.

But still.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see him. I can feel him. Smell him. He’s surrounding me. I swear in the five minutes he was nice to me, he burrowed under my skin and took up residence.

Then there’s the not-so-minor issue of his sleep attire.

Or should I call it a lack of attire?

He’s shirtless. And pantless. The man sleeps in his boxer briefs. Not just any boxer briefs, though. He’s wearing white Calvin Kleins. They’re fitted and made of silky, lightweight fabric that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Fucking imagination.

Because now I’m lying here, restless and, okay, maybe a little horny, trying to squash all fantasies of what it would feel like to have Decker Crusade inside me.

Arrogant. Egotistical. Bossy. I list his lesser qualities and cycle through them in my head, determined to replace my attraction with loathing. I have to hold on tight to my hatred. It’s the only shield I have left tonight.

Reminding myself of my intense dislike of the man lying practically naked mere inches from me, I stretch my legs straight and squeeze my eyes shut, replaying theI Hate Decker Greatest Hitsplaylist over and over in my mind.

He practicallykidnappedme. He’s holding me captive. He dragged me across state lines for his stupid game this weekend. I’m forced to share a bed with him because of his controlling, distrusting attitude.

His heavy sigh hangs between us in warning.

I bristle, knowing damn well he’s about to speak. It doesn’t even matter what he has to say. I’m so keyed up right now, he’s undoubtedly about to set me off.

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