His arms went tight.
* * * * *
I woke up and something was crushing me. I laid there, in the dark, assessing the situation, then remembered.
I was on my back and Hank was at my side, I could feel his breath at my temple, his bicep was resting on my midriff, his forearm curling up my ribs with his hand resting at the side of my breast. His thigh was thrown over both of mine. Adding to this, Shamus was on the other side of me, his head resting on my bel y under Hank’s arm, like my stomach was a pil ow.
Both the human and canine Nightingale boys had me trapped. I’d been feeling trapped for years, but this kind of trapped felt snug and secure.
It was at this juncture that reason returned.
This was not a good thing.
It was so not a good thing that it might have been a catastrophic thing.
The thing wasn’t even about Bil y. I had the feeling that Hank might understand about Bil y. Hank was a good guy and it was pretty clear he liked me (okay, so it was real y clear he liked me).
I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to test this idea, however.
No, it was about sleeping with Hank on the first date.
I was such a slut.
What must he think of me?
I might have been able to explain about Bil y if I hadn’t slept with Hank on the first date. Now, he’d just think I was easy; an easy girl from Indiana who’d f**k criminals and cops without blinking an eye.
I’d even said please.
There was only one solution to this problem.
I had to get out of there.
Immediately.
Not just get out of Hank’s house but out of Denver.
My plan to leave Bil y was screwed. I had to abort and start al over again.
I moved and Shamus jerked and sat up.
I froze, listening, but Hank didn’t wake.
“Let’s go boy, move out,” I whispered to Shamus, shoving him a bit and he jumped off the bed. I slid out from under Hank and then stopped again, waiting. He stil didn’t wake so I got out of bed. Shamus thought it was playtime and wagged his tail, running to the door of the room and back to me.
“Shh!” I hissed. “Come here. Sit!” Shamus did as he was told and I heard his tail sweeping the floor with excitement.
He thought we were going to take a midnight strol , maybe go to a park and play Frisbee. Crazy dog.
I gave him an ear scratch, wishing I could play Frisbee with him (not at that exact moment, but at some moment, eventual y, and it caught at my heart that I knew I never would).
He licked my hand.
That caught at my heart too.
“You’re such a good boy,” I told him, meaning it and also wishing Hank didn’t have a dog. It was hard enough dealing with al that was Hank, add a dog to the mix and it was nearly impossible.
“Stay,” I commanded and Shamus obeyed.