Ava
Something smelled delicious,like spice and heat. I wanted to wrap it around me like a blanket.
I snuggled closer to the source, enjoying the strong, solid warmth beneath my cheek. I didn’t want to wake up, but I’d promised Bridget I would volunteer at a local pet shelter with her this morning, before my afternoon shift at the gallery.
I allowed myself one more minute of coziness—had my bed always been this big and soft—before I opened my eyes and yawned.
Weird. My room looked different. No photograph prints papering the walls, no vase of sunflowers by the bed. And did my bed just move by itself?
My eyes latched onto the broad expanse of bare skin beneath me, and my stomach dropped. I looked up, up—straight into a pair of familiar green eyes. Eyes that stared back at me with no hint of the humor from last night.
He flicked his gaze down. I followed it…and realized, to my abject horror, that I was touching Alex Volkov’s dick. Unintentionally, and he had on sweats, but still.
I. Was. Touching. Alex. Volkov’s. Dick.
And it was hard.
Mortification washed over me in a tidal wave. Move your hand. Move it now! My brain screamed, and I wanted to. I really did. But I stayed frozen, paralyzed by shock and humiliation and something else I would rather not name.
A brief image flashed through my mind of what Alex must be packing beneath his pants. I had a feeling—pun intended—it would rival that of any male porn star.
“Please remove your hand from my cock unless you plan on doing something with it,” Alex said coolly.
I finally yanked my hand away and scrambled back, my heart beating a wild rhythm in my chest as I tried to get my bearings.
“What happened? Why am I here? Did we—did you and I—” I gestured between us, sick with anticipation.
Oh, God, Josh would kill me, and I couldn’t even blame him.
I’d slept with my brother’s best friend.
Shit!
“Relax.” Alex rolled out of bed, lithe and graceful as a panther. Sunlight streamed through the windows and illuminated his sculpted frame, casting his perfectly carved chest and abs in a pale glow. “You fell asleep during that dog movie and it was raining, so I brought you up here. The end.”
“So we didn’t…”
“Fuck? No.”
“Oh, thank God.” I pressed a hand to my forehead, relief a cool balm to the heat on my cheeks. “That would’ve been awful.”
“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Alex said dryly.
“You know what I mean. Josh would’ve murdered us, brought us back to clean up the mess, then murdered us again. Not that I want to sleep with you either way.” Liar, an annoying voice in my head whispered. I shoved it aside. “You’re not my type.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “No? Then who, pray tell, is your type?”
It was too early for this. “Um…” I scrambled to think of a safe answer. “Ian Somerhalder?”
He let out a derisive snort. “Better than the sparkly vampire,” he muttered. “Newsflash, Sunshine, you and Ian aren’t happening.”
I rolled my eyes and got out of bed, flinching when I saw my reflection in the mirror. Wrinkled dress, tangled hair, pillow creases on my cheek, and was that a line of crusted drool on the side of my lips? Yeah, I wouldn’t win a beauty contest anytime soon.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I said, discreetly wiping the drool from my face while Alex pulled a T-shirt over his head. His bedroom was as sparse as the living room, with nothing except his massive bed, a nightstand with a lamp and alarm clock, and a dresser decorating the space. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m not your type either, remember? Or maybe I am…” I raised my eyebrows at the obvious tent in his pants.
He wanted to be a jerk again? Two could play this game.
“Don’t read too much into it. It’s morning wood. Every guy gets it.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, which of course was still perfect after a night’s sleep. “And my panties are not in a twist.”
“If you say so,” I sang. “Also, stop calling me Sunshine.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not my name.”
“I’m aware. It’s a nickname.”
I released an exasperated breath. “We don’t know each other well enough for nicknames.”
“We’ve known each other for eight years.”
“Yes, but we don’t have that type of relationship! Plus, I’m sure you’re mocking me, bleeding heart and all.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me. What type of relationship do we have?”
We were treading dangerous ground. “We’re neighbors. Friendly acquaintances.” I racked my brain for more because those terms didn’t seem right. “Movie buddies?”
He closed the distance between us, and I gulped, holding my ground even though I wanted to run. “You always sleep in the same bed as your acquaintances?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t ask to sleep in the same bed as you.” I tried not to stare at the region below his waist, but it was difficult to ignore. My nipples hardened and scraped against my bra, and my skin flushed with arousal.
What the hell was happening? This was Alex, for Pete’s sake. The Antichrist. The asshole. The robot.
Except my body must’ve not gotten the memo, because I was suddenly fantasizing about pushing him on the bed and finishing what my hand had inadvertently started earlier.
No. Get it together. You are not sleeping with Alex Volkov, now or ever.
“Anyway, I—I have to go. Volunteer. Pets,” I stammered, barely making sense to myself. “Thanksforlettingmestayoverseeyoulaterbye!”
I beat a hasty retreat down the stairs and ran home.
I needed a cold shower, ASAP.
PHASE SADNESS STATUS: FAILED
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