The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,49
of his shoulder blades and spine. The blanket is gathered at his hips, and I see his boxer briefs peeking out of the top. I’m still properly dressed, which I find charming considering he could have done whatever he wanted with me asleep like that.
The rain still pitter-patters outside, and I wonder what time it is. Judging by the groggy feeling in my head, I know it’s likely still the middle of the night and I’ll need to force myself back to sleep if I have any hope of surviving tomorrow without an IV drip of caffeine.
But now that I’m awake, my bladder is as well, and I know I won’t be able to rest again until I use the loo.
Carefully, so I don’t disturb Logan, I slip out of bed and tiptoe toward the bathroom door. The cold tile stings my toes even through my stockings, so I scurry quickly toward the water closet. Once I’m done in there, I wash my hands and look around for a bit of toothpaste. My breath is loathsome. I find Logan’s red tube of Crest and use a dollop on my finger to scrub inside my mouth. It’s not perfect, but at least my breath is minty when I’m done. After a quick rinse of my face to get the makeup off, I feel like a new woman as I head back into Logan’s bedroom.
I’ve managed to do all my bathroom business with the lights out so I can still see properly as I creep toward the bed. Logan hasn’t stirred a bit. His big body is splayed out, taking up just about every inch he can manage. He might be the only person I know who needs a king-sized bed.
I stand off to the side and consider, briefly, not getting back into bed with him. I could go out into the living room and lie down on the sofa, or I could find a guest bedroom, or I could just leave and take a cab home, but I don’t want to do any of those things, and the fact that Logan carried me to his room earlier proves he wants me here too. With that blissful thought, I slide back under the covers and lay my head on the pillow. I’m so aware of him beside me, but we’re not touching, and that feels like such a colossal waste, so I sort of scoot my body closer to his and gently lift his heavy arm so it goes up and over me. He responds immediately, pulling me close and tucking me up against his side. His weight is lovely, and I lie there for ages, awake and smiling like a fool.
Chapter Twelve
Candace
“Ms. Candace…Ms. Candace!”
“What?”
“The paint is spilling!”
I look down to see I’ve overfilled a little cup of pink paint so it’s oozing over the sides and onto the counter. “Oh. Bugger!”
The kids snicker because I’ve said a bad word, but I’m too busy to care. I run round my classroom, grabbing napkins and water to clean up the mess. I should have realized painting was a bad idea.
I’ve been off all day, moony and distracted. I keep thinking about this morning and what it was like to start my day off at Logan’s flat, the milky coffee and little yogurt parfait with loads of berries and oats. He was up way before me, already showered and dressed for a meeting with his agent. He was done up in slacks and a button-down with an expensive watch on his wrist. It was a totally different look, and one that caught me off guard. When he strolled into the kitchen looking like that, I lost track of what I was meant to be doing (spooning yogurt into my mouth) so that a bit of my parfait slid off my spoon and splatted onto the table.
“Morning,” he said, going round the island to fetch himself more coffee.
“Oh! Morning!”
When he turned his back to me, I tried desperately to straighten my appearance in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice how disheveled I looked.
“Pat will be ready to drive you to your apartment in fifteen minutes. That should give you plenty of time to make it to work, right?”
What did words like “time” and “work” have to do with anything when Logan was strolling around his kitchen looking like that?
He looked at me over his shoulder when I didn’t reply, so then I rushed out a half mumbled, “Oh sure! Yes! That’s fine.”