bed, the blankets pooled at his waist. "How am I supposed to reach you over there?" He patted the mattress beside him and I snort-laughed. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No."
He dropped his head back against the pillows. "I'm gonna go to sleep now, Zelda."
"Not without this damn sling," I said. "Don't you remember what the doctor told you? It's important to keep everything steady and immobilized."
He closed his eyes, patted the bed again. "Come here and do it."
And—dammit—I did.
I climbed onto the bed and wedged myself between Ash and the wall of pillows at his back. It only took me two attempts to get the sling in place and he only howled a string of curses once. But when I was finished, he shifted, scooping his good arm around my waist and resting his head right between my breasts, and trapped me under the solid mass of his body.
He mumbled a drowsy, "Thank you for everything, Zelda. You saved me today," and that was it. I was in bed with my boss.
I never planned on knowing the sound of bones sliding into place. Never imagined I'd share a bathroom with a man I'd met a handful of hours ago. I never anticipated I'd fall asleep with his head on my chest and his arm wrapped around my waist.
And I never dreamed of waking up to find a woman in the middle of Ash's bedroom, smirking as she said, "You're not Millie."
It seemed this was the one time I couldn't build the parachute before splattering on the ground.
7
Zelda
"You're not Millie."
Wait. Where the hell am I?
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I asked, "Is that a compliment?" I peered down at Ash, his body sprawled over mine, and it all came rushing back. Leaving Denver, the airport, the résumé, the urgent care clinic, the new boss currently using my belly as a pillow. What a day. I couldn't go home so I had to go big. And now, the woman standing in the doorway to Ash's bedroom was certain to keep the crazy streak alive. There was no other way for women who appeared in bedrooms like this. "Or an accusation?"
Who was she? Too calm about this to be his girlfriend. Too dressed up to be his personal trainer. Too in his apartment on a Saturday morning to be a colleague or business partner. I knew he didn't have a Pepper Potts-inspired personal assistant to rouse him from bed and manage his days because that was my new gig.
Maybe she was a friend. An extremely familiar friend who had a key to his apartment and free rein to visit as she pleased. I'd assumed that only happened in the land of sitcoms but the world was in the process of proving me wrong about everything.
The woman considered my questions, the corner of her mouth pulling up as she pointed at Ash. "How is he still asleep? And what the hell happened to him?" Not waiting for a response, she pressed two fingers to her lips and whistled. "Ash Indigo. Time to get up."
He groaned against my belly and the sound vibrated through my skin and bones and organs. Not moving from his tangled-around-me spot, he said, "Oh my fucking god, Magnolia. Shut up and go away."
"Your…your name is Ash Indigo?" I asked, running my palm over his good shoulder. The other was a mottled mess of purple, red, and yellow.
"You are not Millie," she repeated, a laugh ringing in her words. She dropped her hands to her waist, tapped her pale pink polished fingers there. "Not even a little bit."
Still rubbing his shoulder, I continued, "Is that your two-name first name? Like Mary Anne?" As uncomfortable as this wake-up call was, I couldn't stop touching him. "Or is it your middle name? Or a stage name? That seems unlikely but…Indigo."
Ash groaned again and whatever the arousal version of a contact high was, I had it. I was already hooked on his growls and grumbles and groans.
The woman—Magnolia—tilted her head, smiling at me. "It's his middle name," she said. "Ash, you need to get your precious mood-ring ass out of bed. Mom is going to be here any minute and I know she would fucking love this entire situation but I'm trying to do you a favor."
Mom. That explained so much.
"Why are you here?" he rumbled, his arms still fixed around my waist and his face pressed to the skin exposed by my rucked-up t-shirt.