Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
He allegedly had an issue with sleeping in the same room as others, and yet here he was. I didn’t really know what to make of that. Maybe he just didn’t like having other people in his bed with him. Maybe he was fine sharing a bed if said bed wasn’t his own. Maybe he simply had bad nightmares and didn’t want anyone to witness them.
My alarm soon went off. His eyelids flipped open. Didn’t flutter, didn’t weakly lift. They shot open like he’d been whacked across the head.
I licked my lips. “Morning.” The word came out husky with sleep. “Any chance you could switch that alarm off?”
Dane did as I asked and then studied me with slumberous dark eyes. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, his voice thick.
“Better.”
“Migraine’s gone?”
“Yes.” I bit my lip. “Thanks for staying with me. If it happens again, though, you really can just leave me here. I’ll be okay.”
“Hmm.”
I yawned. “I’m guessing you didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“I was going to leave after a few hours, but then your muscles started spasming. It mostly happened in your hands and feet, but I was worried you were going to have a seizure.”
I winced. “Forgot to warn you about the spasms, sorry.”
“I didn’t know you had migraines. You’ve never had any at work.”
“They usually happen in the evenings. I only have them, like, every six months or so.” Anyone who suffered them on a daily basis had my total admiration, because I’d never cope.
“Have you had them since you were a child?”
“No.” Feeling a little stiff, I forced myself to sit up. “I had my first when I was nineteen.” Melinda had shit herself when my speech went slurry. She’d thought I was having a stroke.
“I’ve never had a migraine.”
“Never? Really? Not even a teeny, tiny one?”
He shook his head.
“The devil’s luck,” I mumbled.
He slid off the bed and pocketed his phone. “You going to be okay to go to work?”
“Of course. But it’s sweet that you’d ask.” I flicked back the covers. “As is the way you softly snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
Probably not, but it was fun to poke at him. “I heard you with my own ears.”
“You heard wrong.” He turned and strode toward the door. “Now get ready and meet me downstairs. We’ve got a hectic day ahead of us.”
“Don’t I know it,” I grumbled. It was the story of my life.
Chapter Fifteen
Slotting a book back into its place on the sturdy bookshelf the next day, I did a long stretch. I’d been holed up in the library for hours, unwinding in my favorite way ever. I’d mentally jotted down several of the books here that I intended to read before my inevitable divorce. I was determined to get through them all.
I’d miss this little haven when I left. No matter how hectic my day was, all my tension fell away whenever I walked into the library. Partly because I just loved the woody, earthy scents of old books and leather. I honestly didn’t get why Dane never made any use of the space. What a weirdo.
Said weirdo was currently in his home office. Big surprise there. He’d earlier popped his head through the door to inform me that he was back from his dinner meeting with colleagues, but he’d disappeared before I could say anything more than “hi.”
I’d almost laughed when Melinda once commented on how “social” Dane was. Social my ass. He could certainly feign the fuck out of it when it suited him, though. Just as he feigned the fuck out of being head over heels for me.
Grabbing another book I’d mentally marked as to-be-read, I crossed to what had become my favorite plush chair within the library. I was just about to sit when Dane strolled inside, his eyes hard, his mouth tight.
I lifted my brows. “Something wrong?”
He halted a few feet away and casually slipped his hands into his pockets, but he looked far from at ease. “I just received an email from Heather.”
Uh-oh. I should have figured she’d send him another. Or maybe she’d just re-sent the first. “Heather?” I echoed. “What did she want?”
“Firstly, to apologize for that scene she caused at the barbecue. She claims to be ashamed of her behavior and is mortified that she let her family down so badly. She went on to tell me how it saddens her that you two have never been close, and that she regrets never forming a sisterly bond with you.”
She’d typed all that in the other email.
“She also apparently feels the need to warn me that you’ve never gotten over Owen, and she worries that you might just be using me to get his attention, now that he’s divorcing his wife. She’s quite sure you’d leave me for him if he gave you the slightest indication that he’d be willing to give things with you another try, and apparently her conscience wouldn’t let her keep quiet about it.”