Fighting to Breathe (Shooting Stars 1)

I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, debating what to do. Lights flicker through the dark living room, an engine cuts off, and a door slams.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hear come from Ken, and I frown at the door as loud banging starts.

“Lea, open up.” Now Austin? Are you kidding me? What the hell is this?

As soon as I open the door, Austin puts his hand on my belly, pushing me back into the house, then shuts the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” I frown.

“I asked Zach to drive by and, if he saw Ken’s car, to call me,” he explains then glares at the door.

“Lea, can I please talk to you alone?” Ken calls. My mind begins to race. This is not what I need—not tonight, not when I feel like my body is about to shut down from lack of sleep and stress.

“He said he can’t get a flight until Sunday and that there are no rooms in town. I can’t just make him sleep in his car for two days.”

“He’s not staying here unless I am,” He says and I can actually feel his rumbled words vibrate through my body making me tingle.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

I did hear him, but what the hell is going on? “This cannot be happening,” I groan in frustration once again.

“No one’s sleeping in my mom’s room, and that only leaves the couch and my bed, so unless you’re willing to sleep with him,” I jerk my thumb towards the door, “this isn’t gonna work.”

“I’ll sleep with you.”

“No.”

“Then I guess he’s sleeping in his car.”

“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“I’m my own boss baby.” He shrugs.

“Fine.” I should just make the jerk sleep in his car, but I would feel horrible the whole time. “Stupid conscience.” I mutter under my breath.

Going to the door, swing it open, and look at my ex, a man I thought I loved, who I believed loved me, boy was I wrong. So completely wrong that, even now, guilt strikes me hard.

“You can sleep on the couch,” I tell him and without waiting for him to reply I storm off down the hall to my room and shut the door. I don’t even want to contemplate Austin sleeping in my room with me, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel better knowing he was here in the house.

Listening as a couple doors shut I take off the sweater, which leaves me in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank, and get into bed. Seconds after I lie down, my door opens and Austin steps into the room. His eyes roam over me then he turns off the light, but that does nothing to stop my eyes from seeing him slip his hooded sweatshirt off over his head then his shirt, leaving the large expanse of his chest exposed, showing off a tattoo I hadn’t known he had and flat abs, not overly defined, but definitely visible. Then his hands go to the buttons of his jeans and he pulls them down, leaving him in a pair of black boxer briefs that mold to the thick muscles of his thighs.

His large body is imposing and almost predatory as he walks toward the bed. My eyes track his every movement, from the way his arms hang at his sides, to the way his muscles flex under his skin. We had sex when we were teenagers, and I loved the way he made me feel then, the way he was so large and rugged, always making me feel feminine and small. But this Austin is someone completely different. He doesn’t just take up the space in my room; he commands it looking at him now I can see the Viking ancestry in his features which only serve to make him more beautiful, and terrifying at the same time.

As he nears the bed, I wonder how the hell we’re going to make this work. The queen size is large for me, and would be for two normal people, but with Austin’s bulk, I know it’s going to feel like we’re sleeping on a twin.

“I gave him some blankets and shit out of the linen closet.”

“Oh,” I didn’t even think about that, “thanks.”

“Uh-hum,” he grunts, pulling the covers back and getting under. Immediately, I feel the heat from his body and his skin touching mine at our sides. The worst part is I can’t even ask him to scoot over, because he takes up the whole damn bed without even trying. Lying there awkwardly his body turns towards mine, his hand slides under my neck and his hand lays over my waist. My body and lungs freeze, but he doesn’t move again, so I turn to my side, facing the door, and tuck myself into a ball, bringing my knees up to my chest. Then I move the pillow so that it’s under my head, instead of Austin’s arm. I move again, kicking one leg outside the covers then roll slightly to my stomach, with one leg hitched up.

“Christ,” he growls, putting his arm around my waist, pulling my back to his front until my body curves into his.

“Austin,” I hiss his name and try to wiggle free, but his arm just tightens around me. I finally give up out of frustration and exhaustion, and fall asleep trying to ignore how good it feels to be in his arms.

I wake up feeling hot, too hot, with a heavy weight pressing down on me. It takes a moment to remember I’m still in bed with Austin, but we had changed positions sometime during the night and now his body is now half on top of mine, his arm around me, his thigh over both of mine. I tilt my head back and look at the clock, seeing the red numbers reading a few minutes after six. I’m still tired, but had slept better than I have in a long time. I debate with myself on how to get out of bed then flip half the covers off causing Austin to grumble something, scoot back slightly, take his thigh off mine, but then wrap his arm tighter around me pinning me in place. My eyes start to feel heavy while I lie listening to the sound of his soft snore in my ear, and before I know it, I’m out again.

The feel of rough hands moving up the backs of my thighs, over my backside, then settling above my ass has my eyes blinking open. “Baby, you gotta move,” is growled, and my heart begins to beat hard and my stomach knots. My legs are on either side of Austin’s waist, my core close to something thick and hard, my cheek pressing to his hair-covered chest. Realizing where I am I fly backwards, getting my feet tangled in the blanket, and fall off the bed onto my ass.

“Shit,” leaves his mouth, and he somehow manages to pick me up as if I weigh nothing and brings me back onto the bed setting me in front of him and running his hands over me. “You okay?”

I nod. I’m okay. My ego, not so much. I feel my face heat to a hundred degrees and I watch as a smile twitches his lips, then a roar of laughter shortly follows as he falls backwards onto the bed.

“It’s not funny,” I huff then think about how crazy I must have looked and cover my mouth as uncontrollable laughter bubbles up the back of my throat.

“Baby, that shit was funny as hell.” He laughs harder, making me pull a pillow from the bed and shove my face into it as I laugh loud, doubling over from the force of it. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks after his laughter has died down and I have taken my face out of the pillow.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I lower my face slightly, averting my eyes from his.

“What time is it?”

I look at the clock and feel my eyes grow in size. “Holy crap!”

“What?” His head turns and he looks at the clock. “It’s only ten.”

“I haven’t slept past six in forever,” I mumble, knowing he did that somehow, he made it possible for me to sleep.

“You needed to sleep. I wasn’t gonna wake you, but I need to piss.” That reminder has my face, which had cooled, heating right back up again. It also makes me wonder how long I had been asleep on top of him, with him awake, before then.

I watch him get out of bed, pick up his jeans off the floor, and put them on, my eyes training on the large bulge in his boxers before it’s covered up by the worn out denim material. Then he opens the door and slips out of the room. I sit there, wondering what the hell is going on in my head. My mom just passed away and I have an ache in my chest that I can’t seem to get rid of, but I also have this undercurrent of happiness flowing through me. It feels strange to be sad and happy all at once, but that’s what I’m feeling.

&nbs

p; I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that, laughed so hard my stomach muscles hurt from doing it. Getting out of bed I grab my sweater from my chair and wrap it around me then dig through my drawer to find a pair of my cashmere socks that go up to mid-thigh. When the door opens again, I steel myself from looking at Austin until he growls, “You’re not wearing those out there.”

My head swings to him, and I frown and ask, “What?”

“The socks.” He shakes his head and his mouth turns down in the corners. “You’re not wearing them out there.”

“Why?”

“Dick is still here.”

“I haven’t forgotten that, Austin.” I roll my eyes and stand up after adjusting the soft material.

“Take them off.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, but then my body is moving backwards, my calves hitting the bed, and I fall back with a bounce. “What the hell are you doing?” I screech as my feet are pulled up. I try to kick out, but he grabs both my legs with one arm around my thighs and pulls off one sock then the other as I struggle, rolling and thrashing back and forth. “Give them back!” I shout.