Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
8
RUBY
I’m freshly showered, wearing soft clothes that feel as cozy as pajamas.
After we received our latest round of room assignments here in Vancouver, Kendrick and I parted ways to freshen up in our respective rooms. And now, about thirty minutes later, I’m headed to Kendrick’s pad, determined to cuddle that sweet insomniac to the best sleep of his life.
I’m no sleep specialist, obviously, but it’s my strong suspicion Kendrick could use some extra TLC to help combat his quarter-life crisis. Also, selfishly, I sleep better on Kendrick’s shoulder than on any actual pillow, so I feel like this “sleep therapy” idea of mine is a win-win.
I reach Kendrick’s door and double-check the room number, since it’s all a blur at this point, and when I’ve confirmed I’m in the right place, I knock ever so lightly, just in case Kendrick’s asleep in there by some miracle. Unfortunately for Kendrick, he opens the door, dressed in sweats, his sandy hair damp from his shower and the scents of aftershave and toothpaste wafting off him.
“Hey, cutie,” he says.
“Hey, hot stuff. Are you excited to take the best damned nap of your life?”
Kendrick chuckles. “So excited.” He widens the door, and I step inside the room. Not surprisingly, it’s tidy and neat, as all Kendrick’s living spaces are, whereas my new hotel room down the hall already looks like a bomb went off inside it.
Kendrick claps his palms together. “So, how do you want to do this?”
“What do you mean? We’ll lie down and cuddle, and hopefully you’ll be snoozing in record time.”
“Maybe some chatting first, to help me relax?”
“There’s no need to wine and dine me, babe. This isn’t a date. This is sleep therapy.”
Kendrick flushes. “No, yeah.”
“I’m kidding.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, this is a little weird for me.”
“I just slept on your shoulder on the plane for hours. It’s no different than that.”
“Isn’t it, though? I always slept on the floor in your dorm room, rather than in the bed with you, for a reason.”
“Yeah, because my bed was the size of a stick of gum. If it had been bigger, I would have gladly scootched over to make room for you.” I was also dating Ryder at the time, and I’m sure sleeping in a tiny bed with a hunk like Kendrick wouldn’t have gone over well with him, no matter how much I explained that Kendrick and I were best friends. But there’s no need to mention that to Kendrick now, since he never particularly liked Ryder. Especially on the heels of my breakup with Cooper, I’m not in the mood to remind him of yet another example of my defective picker.
I take off my shoes and leap onto the bed. But when Kendrick doesn’t join me, when he stands frozen and staring at me like I’m covered in plutonium, I pat the mattress and say, “Come on, hot stuff. Stop making this weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. It’s just weird. And maybe don’t call me hot stuff when I’m about to get into bed with you.”
I roll my eyes. “This is no weirder than you sleeping in a bed with Kai for years. Come on.”
With a twist of his lips, Kendrick exhales and slowly lies down next to me on top of the comforter. “Probably good we’re not getting into the bed,” he mutters. “Since it’s just a nap.”
“Yeah, I agree, since they’ll be coming to get us for sound check in a few hours, it’s probably best if we don’t get too comfy. Now, close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and try to clear your mind.”
“Why do I feel like you’re getting ready to give me a prostate exam?”
I giggle. “If I thought shoving my hand up your ass would get you out of your head long enough to fall sleep, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
A deep rumble of a chuckle escapes Kendrick’s throat. “This is your idea of getting me in the mindset to sleep? With one eye open, maybe.”
We both laugh. But when our laughter dies down, I turn onto my side, prop myself up on my elbow, and use my free hand to stroke his face. “Stop fighting sleep. Close your eyes. Take deep breaths.” He follows my instructions, and his broad chest expands and contracts with his breathing. “Good,” I purr softly. “Clear your mind.”
As he continues breathing deeply, I brush my fingertips over his cheeks and forehead, and then gently through his hair, and it’s plain to see he’s soaking up my touch like dry sponge dunked into a bucket of water. As Kendrick relaxes under my fingers, I let my eyes drift down his muscular body. To the large hand that’s now resting idly on his powerful thigh. Suddenly, the sight of that hand provokes a long-ago memory: the sight of Kendrick’s big hand caressing his then-girlfriend’s soft cheek as he made love to her, enthusiastically, on a raggedy couch in the front room of his student apartment.