Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

A gentle snore accompanies the sounds from the movie on the screen, and when I step inside, I find a slumbering Lilly, rolled toward the opposite wall, hands tucked beneath her chin, sleeping soundly.

She lets out another soft snore.

What is she doing in my bed?

I cross to the other side of it, standing in front of her, looking down at her figure, unsure what action to take. I should wake her up, yeah? Definitely cannot let her sleep—it’s weird.

I don’t even know her.

I stare for a few seconds before shaking my head and glancing away.

You can’t stand here and watch her sleep, idiot. You’re being creepy.

She’s the one invading your space.

Right, but everyone knows watching someone sleep is bizarre.

Just wake her up. Reach over and give her shoulder a shake.

At least say her name, for Christ’s sake. Do something besides stand here.

Instead, I stare some more. Even after pep-talking myself out of it, I still don’t have a goddamn clue what to do in this situation. I’ve only been living on my own for a week—is this what it’s like? Strange girls crawling into your bed and passing out?

It’s Sunday—it’s not like she’s drunk.

She was waiting for you.

I hear the words as if there’s someone in the room with me speaking them out loud. Look down at her again, studying her face. Her closed eyes. The way her mouth is slightly open as she snores.

The hands under her chin.

Don’t stare at her, don’t stare at her.

God, why am I so awkward? Why can’t I just nudge her or say her name without feeling weird about it? What the heck do I think is going to happen if I wake her up right now? She’s going to hate my guts?

I don’t want to embarrass her and I know that’s what’s going to happen and I want to prevent her from feeling awkward. But I also can’t just let her sleep, can I? It’s not that late. I suppose I could sleep on the couch, but what if she wakes up in the middle of the night and forgets where she is and gets scared?

That happens, right?

It seems legit.

“Lilly.” I say her name tentatively, just above a whisper, internally cringing at my hesitation. “Hey, Lilly.”

Hey?

Ugh.

I try again, this time louder. “Lilly, I’m back.”

She stirs slightly, her legs shifting at the foot of the bed, her feet rubbing together but not much else.

“Lilly, wake up.”

“Mmm?” she mumbles, stirring.

Maybe I should turn on the light? That would help.

After I flip the switch, Lilly begins to roll to her back, arm covering her eyes to block out the light, her hand open like a shield against the blaring brightness.

“Why did you do that?” she asks with a tortured groan. “Go away.”

“Um.” I pause. “This is my room?”

She pauses, body going still, hand slowly lowering from her eyes so she can blink at me, the slow realization of it being, well—me—dawning on her.

“Oh my god, Roman.” Lilly tries to sit up. “I am so sorry. Oh my gosh, I…” She glances around. “Did I fall asleep? Was I sleeping?”

“Yeah, you were sleeping.” I stuff both hands in the pockets of my pants. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want to wake you up and scare you.”

“How long was I out?”

“No idea. I actually just got home.”

“Lord.” She groans again. “I’m sorry.”

“You must have needed the rest.”

“I guess.” Her hands are braced on her knees, and I notice something between her fingers but don’t comment on it. Something that looks familiar?

Something that looks like…

Mine?

The bracelet.

Fuck.

Don’t stare at it, don’t stare at it.

She sees me staring at it and slides it onto her middle three fingers, holding it up and studying it like she’s wearing a ring, turning it this way and that as if trying to catch the light in its facets.

Lilly wiggles her fingers.

Raises her brows when my eyes slide from her hand to her face.

I clear my throat, stepping back a foot so I don’t crowd her, and also I want to get the hell out of this room as fast as I can lest she wants to talk about—

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew me? I thought you looked familiar.”

Okay. She definitely wants to talk about it.

Shit.

What the hell do I say?

“I’m not trying to put you on the spot.” Her fingers—still holding the bracelet—smooth her hair down. The bedhead. Finger-combing it into some semblance of order; she must have tossed and turned a few times during her nap, and the strands stick up in several directions. “I just came up here because it was a bit lonely downstairs and…found it.”

That makes sense, I guess.

“I’m sorry if this is making you feel uncomfortable, but I just saw it—I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I came up here and looked at a few things before settling myself on the bed and watching TV. Is that okay?”