Bedhead: A Romance

by Kayt Miller

  “Aye. That blue.”

  He hasn’t moved. He’s still an inch from me. What should I do? Should I kiss him? Should I wrap my arms around him and drag him down to my twin mattress? I start to laugh at that notion just as he moves back and away from me. “Let’s go get a bite. I’m starving.”

  Refusing to overthink the kiss or anything that just happened, I make my way toward the stairs. “I’d offer to cook for you, but all I have here is stale bread and ramen noodles.” I turn my head, adding, “Trust me, you don’t want that.” Continuing down the steps, I say, “So, I’m going to let you buy me dinner.”

  “It would be my honor, Q.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Best pizza ever,” I say with my mouth only half full. I was able to get a to-go order in to Great Plains Sauce and Dough Company before they closed. I’ve never had it before due to the price, but I’ve always heard good things. And wow, it’s so good. “Do you like it?”

  He nods and smiles as he dips part of his crust in a dish of honey. He’s devoured over half the pizza, which is saying something since we ordered a large and it’s exactly that, large.

  “I’m glad.” And relieved. I chose the place not having any idea what kind of food he might like.

  We’re at Cooke’s hotel, sitting at the small dining table in the second living area of his two-room suite. I’m not sure it’s as fancy as the places Cooke usually stays, but he hasn’t complained. I mean, the room is nice. I took a little tour when we first got here. There’s a king-size bed with a big wall-mounted television, closet, and sitting area in the other room. This room has a larger living area with an even larger TV, along with a kitchenette and this dining table. All in all, I think it’s not bad.

  We’ve been quiet for a few minutes. Part of that is me not wanting to ask him how long he’s staying, but I need to know so I can plan fun things for him to do. “So”—I place my half-eaten piece of pizza back down on my napkin—“how long are you staying?”

  He nods, chews, and then swallows his big bite. “One more night. I fly out the following morning.”

  “Oh.” What did I think? He was going to stay a week or two? Of course not. “Well, what would you like to do tomorrow? I don’t work.” And I can skip my afternoon classes. Probably.

  “I’d like a tour of your campus, I promised the rugby lads I’d visit their practice tomorrow evening, and I’d love to take you to dinner.”

  “I’d like that.” The conversation lags, so I ask, “Are you having a good time so far?”

  He smiles between bites. “I am. I’m just knackered.”

  Oh, I know what that means—he’s tired. “That’s right. You’re on UK time. I’m so sorry. I should go and let you sleep.” I quickly stand and search for somewhere to throw my trash.

  “Stay.”

  I halt. “St-Stay?”

  “Stay. It’s a big bed. I won’t even be tempted.”

  I feel the flush hit my cheeks instantaneously. “Of course not.” Why would he be tempted by me? Sure, he kissed me, but I swear I’ve had a more passionate kiss with my brother.

  Wait. Don’t… I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant was his was barely a kiss. It was a peck, like when you see your grandma and grandpa kiss. Like that. Geesh. I’m not a perv. And neither is my brother. You know what? Forget I said anything. All I mean was his kiss was nothing. A tiny blip on the giant radar of life.

  “Quinn.”

  “No, I think I’ll, uh, call an Uber.”

  “Quinn, love.”

  I throw my things away, trying to keep busy. I must be tired too, because this shouldn’t make me emotional. It’s just that sleeping in a room with the lights on almost all the time has been difficult. The girls aren’t noisy, mostly, but there’s a lot of activity on the upper level. I’m sort of used to the dungeon I called home for a month or so.

  “Quinn?”

  I turn and he’s right there.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Don’t go.”

  “You need to sleep. I have to get up early. My stuff is at home. I’m not at all worried that you’d be tempted by me. Not in the least. I just prefer to sleep in my own bed.” Lies. All Lies.

  “Fine.” He releases a gust of air. I feel it on my forehead. “I’ll drive you.”

  “No.” Grabbing my purse, I head to the door. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Damn it, Quinn. Stay.” He’s running his fingers through his hair angrily.

  Why? Why would he be angry? I’m the one who should be angry. At myself. Every time a guy pays any attention to me, I get lofty, romantic ideas in my head. I’m stupid. Pathetic. I need to stop with the optimism and turn to realism. Life isn’t a fairy tale. It isn’t a romance novel where the big girl gets the hot man. It’s just not how things work in real life.

  I reach for the door handle and start to turn it when I feel myself being pulled away from the door. The next thing I know, my back is firmly against said door, and Cooke’s mouth is on mine in a decidedly un-grandfatherly kiss. It was so sudden that my mouth was open when he started it. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I do what anyone would do—I touch my tongue to his. I haven’t had a chance to figure out what to do with my hands, so they’re just down at my sides. His hands are in my hair. I should put mine in his hair, but when I try, I can’t get them there. That’s when he takes my hands in his and lifts them until they’re up above my head. It’s shocking and sexy, so I moan and press myself against him, getting as close to him as I can.

  “You have—” He stops talking to kiss his way down my neck. “—no idea how fecking beautiful you are.” His mouth moves down the middle of my chest to my little bit of cleavage thanks to my V-neck tee. “The second I saw you—” His lips slide up the other side of my neck to my ear, where he suckles on my lobe. “—I knew.”

  What? What did he know? “Oh my God,” I pant. This feels better than anything ever has in the entire world.

  “You like my mouth on you, love?”

  “Yes.” Hell, fuck, yes. “Don’t stop.” Don’t ever, ever stop.

  But he does. The big jerk stops. When I open my eyes, he’s staring into mine. “Stay.”

  Stay. Stay?

  “I promise you we won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable doing. I just want you in my bed. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you and wake up next to you.”

  “That was much better, Cooke.”

  “Better?”

  “Yeah, better than ‘I won’t even be tempted.’” I say it in a deep voice to make it sound like it’s him who’s talking.

  “I’m tempted. Believe me.” He looks down at himself, and my eyes follow until they reach his crotch region. His jeans look sort of uncomfortable right now.

  I giggle, because nerves. “Oh. Dear.”

  Smiling, Cooke takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom part of the suite.

  “I, erm, don’t have anything to wear,” I mumble.

  “I’ve got something.”

  I watch as he digs through his suitcase. Pulling out something red, he steps back over to me. “I brought this for you.”

  Taking it from him, I unfold it to see it’s got his team logo on it. He turns it around so I can see his number, 10, and his name, Thompson, printed above it.

  “Wow, Cooke.” My first concern is if it will fit. I don’t want to look at the tag to see the size, but gauging just from holding it up, I think it will. It’ll most likely be snug around my ass, but I can’t do a thing about that. “Thank you.”

  “Go on, then.” He points to the bathroom. “You use the loo; I’ll undress out here.”

  I step into the bathroom and quickly shut the door, all the while biting my lip. Shit. He’s undressing? What if I step out and he’s naked? What will I do? I know what he said a few minutes ago, that we won’t do anything I don’t want to do, but…. “Just breathe, Quinn.” I’m whispering to myself so he can’t hear me. I’m acting like a lunatic. “He won’t be naked.” And wh
at if he is?

  “You all right in there, love?”

  Shit. “Uh, yeah. I’m good.”

  I quickly undress, contemplating whether or not I should wear my bra. I opt not to wear it because a, it’s too tight, and b… well, there is no b, so I unhook my bra and tuck it into my folded shirt. Next, I unbutton, unzip, and shimmy out of my jeans. Standing in only my nicest pair of Hanes Her Way underwear, I slide the shirt over my head. Pushing my arms into each hole, I pray this thing will fit, because I can’t walk back out there and tell him, “Hey, sorry. I’m too fat to wear your ginormous shirt. Got anything in xx-ginormous?” Luckily, when I pull it down, it’s a little loose on me, even over my ass. And it’s long, hitting me at midthigh. “Phew,” I say softly.

  Now that the shirt drama is over, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m flushed, but that’s probably just from changing clothes, though it could also be from that kiss. My hair has certainly been mussed because of that. I run my fingers through it to smooth it down. I lean toward the mirror and see my makeup is okay. Before I go, I decide to quickly use the bathroom, wash my hands, and rinse out my mouth. I’m ready. Now all I need to do is open the door.

  “Quinn?” he calls from the other room. “Is this too much for you, love?”

  Oh shit. How long have I been in here? Without responding, I open the door and step out. My eyes go right to the bed. He’s in it, beneath the covers. I can’t tell if he’s wearing bottoms, but I can see his upper body is free of clothing. I can finally see his tattoos in real life. I could probably touch them if I wanted to.

  “Wow,” he says sort of breathlessly. “You look perfect.”

  I blink at him a few times but say nothing.

  “You all right over there?”

  “Sure.”

  That makes him chuckle. Stepping closer to the bed, I stop and look at his face. With courage I didn’t know I had, I say, “I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Cooke Thompson.”

  “I feel the same about you,” Cooke says as he lifts the sheet and blanket for me to slide under.

  I feel the cool sheets hit my bare legs and sigh. Once my body is beneath the covers, he releases them, resting his hand on my belly, over the blankets. I look back at him, and it hits me. Holy shit. I’m in bed with Cooke Thompson. I’m literally in bed with Cooke Thompson. It’s too bad I’m stiff as a board. I’ve pulled the bedding up to my chin, but I haven’t moved. He slides closer to me urging me back. I scoot over and end up being spooned. Holy shit, I’m spooning with Cooke Thompson. That’s what I said, s-p-o-o-n-i-n-g.

  With his mouth right next to my ear, he whispers, “Love?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nothing is going to happen tonight. I just want to hold you. Please relax. I don’t like that you seem afraid of me.”

  I quickly turn my head. “I’m not afraid of you.” Should I be? Maneuvering so I’m facing him, I place my hand on his face. “Cooke. I’m a virgin.”

  He blinks a few times, then smiles.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I mean, I just confessed something to this man—a secret that only Tayler knew about.

  “Good” is all he says right before he kisses me. It’s not like the one before. No, this one is soft and lingering and sweet. Sure, there’s tongue, but it’s not frantic; it’s fluid and exploratory. I do my best to mimic his movements. I must be doing something right, because he lets out a deep moan from somewhere in his chest. I feel his hand slide down my back to rest on my butt. He squeezes one of my ass cheeks, then pulls me in to him.

  “Sleep, love. Let me hold you.”

  Easy for him to say. I’m pressed up against the hottest man on Earth. Everything about him is delicious, starting with his musky, earthy scent and his warm skin. Even his calloused hands and fingers feel good to me. That’s not even hitting on his physical appearance, because I’m starting to think that what makes Cooke Thompson beautiful isn’t his face. It’s his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “When are you finished with your courses today, love?”

  “Noon.” I have class after that, but I’ve decided to skip since I only have one more day with him. On second thought… “Actually, make that eleven.”

  “You sure?” He comes up behind me and wraps his big arms around me. I’m about to say fuck it and skip everything, but I’m pretty sure I’ll miss a pop quiz if I don’t show up to art history.

  “I’m sure. Where would you like to meet?”

  “At that Hub place. You can give me a tour of campus, and then we’ll get a bite.”

  I turn in his arms so I’m facing him. Why does this feel so natural, like we’ve been doing it forever? I don’t have one ounce of self-consciousness or shyness with him. It’s bizarre. “You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?”

  “Aye.” He leans down to kiss me softly. “One thing you should know about me, Quinn. I don’t do anything without a plan.”

  “Hm, I’m not sure how I feel about that. Spontaneity is the spice of life.” Or something like that.

  With a smirk, he does two things. First, he says, “Oh, I’m spontaneous.” Second, he bends slightly placing his hands right below my butt and lifting me up in the air. I squeal as he turns and tosses me back onto the bed. Then, before I know it, he’s there above me, his big body between my legs. “How’s that for spicing up life?”

  “You can’t be lifting me, Cooke. You’ll hurt yourself. Then what will happen to your team?” I mean seriously. He could throw his back out.

  “Please stop saying shite like that, love.” Then he kisses me. Not like the one a minute ago. No, this one sort of picks up where we left off last night. He brushes his tongue across my lower lip, and I smile against his mouth, opening mine enough for him to sweep his in. I open farther and moan at our kiss. Running my fingers through his hair, I arch to get closer to his body. I want his hands on me, all over me, and the thought scares me a little.

  Sadly, he pulls away. “I’ve got to get you home.”

  “I know,” I mumble in a whiny voice.

  “Eleven. And I’ve got a surprise for you as well.”

  “Oh?” I love surprises. “Okay.” I smile brightly. “Don’t forget, I need to go to the police station too.”

  “Right.” He nods, kisses my nose, and then he’s up on his feet.

  Since we’re both already dressed, me in the clothes from work last night and Cooke in a pair of dark jeans that fit him like a glove, a button-up dress shirt, and a zip-up hoodie that makes him look like sex on stick, we’re ready to go.

  In the car, I pull my phone out of my bag and see I’ve got a bunch of missed texts and voice mails. I guess I never turned the sound back on after work last night. I quickly scan them and realize they’re all from my roommates. The first is from Pats, not long after we left Cy’s.

  Patsy: Where are you? Where did you go?

  At about thirty-minute intervals after that, all of my roommates were texting.

  Lindsay: Where are you?

  Kat: We just got home and you’re not here. Patsy’s losing her shit.

  Patsy: I’m going to strangle you. I’m this close to calling the cops.

  Robbi: Jesus, fuck. We really don’t know this guy. Where are you?

  The last one came at three in the morning.

  Susanna: We’re going to bed, but we’re sleeping with one eye open in case you call.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “My roommates are worried about me.”

  “You didn’t let them know you were with me?”

  “Oh, they knew I was with you, but they don’t really know you.” Neither do I, honestly.

  As soon as we pull into the driveway, I sigh.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” he nods at the front door.

  “Nah. You go do….” I look at his nice clothes. “What are you going to do?”

  “This and that.”

  “Oh, you’re being mysterious. Well, don’t get lost.” He points
to his fancy navigation screen that’s bigger than my laptop was. “Yeah, you’re good.” I’m about to lean in for a kiss, but I suddenly feel awkward. Are we doing that? You know, kissing each other goodbye and stuff?

  Before I can overthink it, I lean in a little bit and he meets me halfway, giving each other a chaste kiss. I like it. “See you at eleven.”

  “Have a good morning, love.”

  I smile as I slide out of his vehicle. It sits extra low to the ground, so I have to grab hold of the door to push myself. I attempt to do it as elegantly as possible and only sort of achieve that. I wave as I take the steps up to the front door. Looking down at my phone, I note I only have a few minutes before I need to be back out the door or I’ll be late for ceramics. I’m going to have to wear the same clothes and grab my bag. When I open the door, the house is quiet, which is weird because we all have morning classes. When I start through the living room, I stop dead in my tracks. They’re there. All of them.

  “Oh… hey,” I say weakly.

  “Don’t—” Patsy starts, but Robbi raises her palm to stop her, then stands.

  “I’ve been given the metaphorical talking stick.” Robbi gives Patsy the evil eye. “And please know this comes from a place of love.” She sighs. “We were worried sick about you. Although we know of Cooke, we don’t really know him, and for you to leave and not tell us where you were going was irresponsible and inconsiderate.”

  Oh shit. Inconsiderate? That sort of stings. “But—”

  Robbi raises her palm to me just as Patsy’s mouth opens and then closes. “We care about you, Quinn. Running off with a guy we barely know is incongruous with the Quinn we’ve gotten to know.”

  Wow, a lot of I-words from Robbi.

  Robbi moves a little closer. “Next time you leave with someone, be sure to check in with one of us. Okay?”

  I want to say a lot right now. I know Robbi has gone home with people a time or two. Patsy and Kat have long-term boyfriends. Lindsay and Jack are going hot and heavy, and Susanna, well, she has a couple guys she sees off and on.