had were vague, shadowy figures, a deep sense of danger, and the smell of saltwater.
Though in truth, the smell could be coming from me in reality, not just my dreams. I’d forgotten to ask Holden if I could shower. I’d found a bathroom two doors down the hall from my bedroom, but I didn’t know where to get towels, and I also didn’t know if I could be trusted to ask a question about showering and not tag on an awkward, not-at-all seductive, ‘you’re welcome to join me,’ to the end of it.
The problem with having slept the day away, I realized once I got back to my room, was that I wasn’t really tired now. Yeah, my body still hurt. I was pretty sure even my nose hairs ached—and I’m not a guy who has a lot of those. But no matter how long I lay in bed, staring out at the moon through the window, I couldn’t get my brain to shut off.
You wouldn’t think I’d even have enough thoughts in my head to keep myself occupied. I only had a day’s worth of memories, after all. But that just meant I cycled through the ones I did have like a washing machine with a broken spin cycle. There was something about my dreams that I felt sure I needed to remember, but I’d be damned if I knew what.
After what felt like a few hours, but could have been a few minutes, I decided to get up and get a drink of water. Or maybe a glass of warm milk. That was a thing people did when they couldn’t sleep, right?
The idea of drinking warm milk actually kind of turned my stomach, but who knew? Maybe I’d like it once I tried it. I hadn’t expected to be a surprise bisexual disaster, after all, yet here I was. Maybe I’d be a surprise warm milk fanatic too.
I crept along the second-floor hallway as quietly as I could. Not for any good reason, really. But the immensity of the mansion and the silence that hung over it like a cloak seemed to demand a respectful hush. The grandfather clock at the end of the hall sounded so much louder at night.
Most of the rooms I passed had open doors, but one, just at the top of the stairs was closed, and I paused, wondering if it was Holden’s. I hadn’t asked him where he slept. It hadn’t occurred to me, and it’s not like there was any way to make that question sound normal.
Just curious what room you sleep in. For completely innocent reasons, of course. Definitely not because I’m planning on accidentally sleepwalking under your covers tonight and mauling you. Definitely not.
Still, I couldn’t help imagining Holden on the other side of that door. Maybe sleeping, or maybe just staring out at the moon like I had been.
What did he sleep in? Was he an old T-shirt and boxers kind of guy? Or maybe he slept naked. Maybe he was so used to living alone that he’d get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and not bother to get dressed, and I’d just happen to be passing through the hall, and we’d bump into each other, and I’d look down shyly and catch sight of his—no.
I shook my head and turned away. The goal was to be less pathetic, not more.
A hiss from somewhere near my feet made me look down, and I realized I’d been about to step on Frog, who was stretched out along the top of the staircase like a tripwire.
“Thanks,” I mouthed at him. He just looked back at me, amber eyes glowing in the dark, then lifted a paw to begin washing it.
Did all cats wash themselves that much, or was he just trying to encourage me to follow his example?
I was halfway down the grand staircase to the house’s massive front foyer when I heard something thud somewhere downstairs. I froze, my heart thumping.
Don’t be an idiot, whispered a scathing part of my brain. It’s probably just Holden. It’s his house, after all.
There was no reason to assume he’d gone to bed when I had. Or that he was in that room upstairs. Or that I knew anything about him at all. I was just letting my imagination run away with me. Again.
I wished I could blame that on the head trauma, but I was beginning to think I might just be like this.