exhaustion—was nothing new. Nothing to do with her.
Which, Nate supposed, begged the question: why the hell couldn’t he get her out of his head?
He was sitting in the living room, surrounded by leftover boxes, taking sips from a glass of ice-cold water because it was way too fucking stuffy in this house. Weren’t older builds meant to be poorly insulated? Why did it feel dry as the bloody Sahara in here? These were the trivialities he chose to focus on, because they helped him ignore other thoughts.
Thoughts like, Hannah sleeps just down the hall from you now. And, Hannah’s sleeping in your house. Isn’t that weird? Doesn’t that feel weird? You should think about why it feels weird.
Those questions, Nate knew, were a trap. The minute he examined the deeper workings of his own brain, he’d run head-first into all the disturbing shit he kept locked up in there. Like his secret love of N-Sync and his obvious attraction to the woman he’d just hired as his nanny.
Oh. Fuck.
There was a chance that Nate could’ve put that thought back where he’d found it—maybe hidden it beneath a few rocks, some tree branches and a bit of moss, for good measure—if Hannah herself hadn’t appeared in front of him at that moment.
Huh. It had been a long time since he’d gotten tired enough to actually hallucinate.
“Are you okay?” she was asking, and a little arrow formed between her eyebrows as she frowned. That was cute. It was such a central arrow, so neat, like someone had drawn it. Apparently, even Hannah’s face obeyed her need for order. Or at least, it did in his pre-dawn hallucinations.
He stared at her, drinking in the creation of his over-worked brain. She was dressed for bed, of course. His hallucinations were nothing if not sensible. Her hair was up, and she had some kind of silky scarf on her head like a girl from the 1950s. She was all wrapped up in an enormous cardigan, which was very respectful of his brain. He was proud of himself for not imagining her naked or something. That would have been awful. Terrible. Horrible. Wonderfully evil. Mostly evil.
God, he needed a shag. That was it. That was the only reason why he felt so fucking horny all of a sudden. He wasn’t really getting hard over a fantasy version of Hannah’s bare knees, peaking out from beneath the hem of her huge cardigan. That would just be odd.
“Nate?” Dream Hannah said. “Could you speak or something? Just so I can be sure you’re not having a stroke.”
He grunted.
“Oh, lovely. Thanks.”
She was even funny in his head.
And then she, Dream Hannah, a figment of his imagination who was absolutely not real, reached out and flicked him on the forehead.
“Ow,” he yelped. Wait. “Fuck. Hannah?”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “That’s me. Hannah. I moved in today, if you recall. I’m your—”
“Sorry,” Nate said quickly. “I was tired.” Because he really couldn’t allow her to finish that sentence. If she said something like I’m your nanny/employee/brand-new and vulnerable household dependent, the urge to throw himself off a cliff would grow even stronger than it already was. Had he really just been thinking about Hannah—Hannah, of all people—like that? Seriously?
Sleep deprivation was a dangerous thing.
She cocked her head, a slight smile on her lips. “Jesus, you must be knackered. Were you just, like, asleep? With your eyes open?”
Oh, perfect. That sounded way better than I thought I was hallucinating so I took the opportunity to stare at you like a pervert. “Yep,” he said cheerfully. “I was asleep. Well, dozing, you know.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?” She sat down beside him, curling up like a cat, leaving a good metre between his right knee and her tucked-up feet. Why did that huge space feel more like a particularly tension-filled inch?
“I won’t sleep tonight,” he said. “No point lying there in the dark.”
“Ah. You thought you’d come down and sit in the dark, instead?”
He shot her a wry look. “Works sometimes. Why are you up, anyway?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. First night in a new house, I suppose.”
“Ah. And, um… why are you wearing that?” He nodded at her cardigan.
She arched a brow. Somehow, that single, tiny movement was powerful enough to make him feel like a misbehaving toddler. It was as if she’d peered into his mind, seen every filthy thought he’d accidentally had tonight, and found them all mildly amusing.
Cheeks burning, Nate clarified. “I meant, aren’t you hot? Is that wool?”