The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

She presses play, and a few moment later offers me part of the blanket. I take it, spreading it over my legs. Her knee brushes against mine, and I worry I’ve encroached on her space. The absolute last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. I relax when she doesn’t move, and in fact, shifts a little closer.

My heart flips in reaction.

For the next four episodes we sit like this, side-by-side, sinking into the leather couch. Through it all, Sierra tells me all the tiny details of the show, the background and histories of the characters, why something is funny or what makes another situation sad. We’re in the middle of an episode about shape shifters when I realize her commentary has slowed, and she’s leaning against my side. Her eyes are shut and she’s breathing evenly.

My heart pounds at her closeness, the weight of her next to me, and I shift, lifting my arm. Quietly, I say, “Sierra.”

She hums softly, and wraps her arm around my stomach, settling in.

Brushing her hair off her cheek I decide to let her stay, and slouch next to her, letting my own eyes flutter shut.

21

Sierra

I wake slowly, pulled from a deep, foggy sleep, blinking at the late afternoon light streaming through the living room windows. The couch beneath me is warm—hard, but warm--and I shift, looking down at a familiar white-T shirt.

No wonder the couch is so hard. It’s a man. Holden.

My movement wakes him and there’s no way to hide the fact I’m completely sprawled across his body.

“Hey,” he says, through squinty eyes.

“Hi.”

I place my hand between us, looking for leverage, and instead of the couch, grip the flesh just above his shorts. He jerks, laughing. “I’m ticklish,” he says, grabbing me by the wrist.

“I see.”

I also feel—him—underneath me. I raise an eyebrow and his eyes pop open wide. Neither of us move.

His cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, um, sorry?”

“It’s okay.”

“No. Not after everything you went through, you should be able to take a nap without being violated.” He swallows. “It’s just—"

“Nature. Got it. I have an eighteen-year-old brother, you know. Raised four boys. It was morning wood and spontaneous erections all the damn time.”

He laughs, and I think his cheeks turn even redder.

“You’re something else, did you know that?”

I shrug, and my hair falls over my shoulder. It’s the second time I’ve been on top of a man today. I consider how this should make me feel. Slutty? Lucky?

He pushes the hair off my face, warm fingers trailing against my skin. I feel him swell beneath me.

“Thank you for being with me today.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice is raspy, his eyes soft.

I bend over and brush my lips across his. He seems startled, and that makes me smile, because Holden is so sweet, so easy, that now I feel like the one taking advantage.

We part, and he admits, “That’s not helping the state of my erection, you know.”

I consider offering to help him with that. Truly, really consider it, the way he helped me through my crisis that afternoon, but the sound of an engine barreling down the dirt road shatters the moment. Holden’s eyes flick to the clock on the mantle.

“Shit.”