“Yeah, it was, except for I was trying to make it rain on him.”
“You’ll get better,” he promises, tugging on a strand of my wet hair. “And if it makes you feel any better, the whole wet look looks really good on you.” His gaze deliberately scrolls up and down my body.
I roll my eyes, but heat rushes through me. Not wanting him to see me blush, I raise my chin and turn for the doorway.
“I’m going to change,” I announce. “And then I’m going to bed.”
“You want me to sleep with you again tonight?” The chuckling in his tone makes me want to say no. But ever since he started spending the night in my bed, nightmares of darkness have been less prominent. Plus, I like having him lay next to me, of knowing I’m not alone. Whether that makes me needy or not, I don’t have a clue.
“Yeah, fine,” I mumble, then haul ass out of the room before he can see how much I want him to sleep by me.
About an hour later, I’m showered and lounging around in my bed when a knock sounds on my door.
“Come in,” I call out, figuring it’s Foster.
But when the door opens, Easton steps inside.
He’s wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms and a grey T-shirt, and his hair is a little damp. He also appears a bit apprehensive, which seems very out of character for him.
“So,” he starts, raking his fingers through his hair and glancing around at the photos I hung up on the wall of my past life. Or well, it’s starting to feel like my past life.
When his gaze skims across one of Gage, Nina, and I having a snowball fight and laughing our asses off, a small smile tugs at his lips. “You look happy in this one.”
“I was.” I scoot to the edge of the bed, stand up, and make my way over to him. “It was a couple of years ago and my mom took the photo without us knowing… I think it was the first photo she ever took of me.” I press my lips together, suddenly aware of how true my statement is.
How did I never notice this before? That my parents never took photos of me?
Easton’s gaze glides toward me and his lips part. I wait for him to ask me questions about what I said, if my parents were shitty, but all he says is, “Your hair’s still wet.”
I fidget with the ends of the strands, running my fingers through them. “Not from the water you dumped on me. I took a shower to wash that off.” I scowl at him, but my lips threaten to turn upward.
I’m not sure why, but it’s difficult to stay pissed off at him, even after he dumped water on me. Maybe it’s because he’s usually smiling and joking around, but right now he seems extremely sedated.
“Is everything okay? You seem quiet. Plus, you’re in my room…” I leave the question hanging out there, hoping he’ll explain.
Instead he smirks.
I should’ve known better.
“Is lightning eyes worried about my wellbeing?” he teases. “I’m touched.”
I aim an unimpressed look at him and cross my arms. “I was worried about you until you opened your mouth.”
He flashes me a toothy grin, but then his smile deflates. “Actually, Fost sent me in here. Max just sent him a message and said he needed his help with something.” He makes a path around my room, examining more of the photos on the walls. “He asked me to come in here and lay down with you while you fall asleep.” He turns toward me, tapping his fingers against the sides of his legs. “I’ll only stay though if you want me to.”
He’s being oddly serious and it’s making me feel super uneasy.
“Wow, is that your way of trying to be a gentlemen?” I joke in an attempt to lighten his sullen mood.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “It’s a rare occurrence, but it sometimes happens. Like a eclipse or the stars aligning.”
My brow teases upward. “So I should consider myself lucky?”
He grins. “Absolutely.”
The uneasiness leaves me and I grin back at him. But the corners of my mouth tip downward again when he plops down onto my bed and tucks his arms behind his head, totally comfortable.
When I make no effort to join him, his lips pull up into an impish half-grin. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t bite.”