All Played Out (Rusk University #3)(36)

How is that? In what universe does that make any sense?

In this one, my mind says as I watch his eyes fall closed.

And even though I should let him rest, even though I should use this time to study or read or make one epic pros and cons list, I set an alarm on my phone for two hours from now, and I round the bed to crawl in beside him.

He takes up over half of my full-size bed, so that even if I didn’t want to be touching him, it would be hard to avoid. Not that I try.

He lifts his arm, and I immediately crawl under it, to lean against him. I lay my head on his chest and press my body close to his side. His arm settles down around me, his fingertips brushing along my spine.

We’ve lain like this once before, that first night after we had sex. That was the only time he stayed the night, and it feels different now, to have him hold me like this when it’s still light outside and when we’re both fully clothed, and my mind isn’t numb from pleasure. I’d been so exhausted that night that I fell asleep almost immediately, no time to think or analyze.

“Now, this is what I call full-service medicine.”

“This is the part where I would hit you. If you weren’t already hurt.”

“Go ahead. I can take it. I like a little pain with my pleasure.”

I don’t even think before I ask, “Do you really?”

He sucks in a breath, and his chest lifts beneath my cheek.

“We can talk about what turns me on another time. When I can do something about it.”

“You could make me a list.”

He groans, and pulls me tighter against him, and my heartbeat kicks into high gear. I know nothing is going to happen. Nothing can happen. But my body recognizes his, remembers how good we were together.

“Damn, woman. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Sorry,” I answer sheepishly. “Go to sleep. I’ll shut up.”

Please, dear Lord, let me shut up.

“We’re having this conversation again later. I like this list idea a lot. But only if we make one for you, too.”

“You already know the things that turn me on. Better than I do probably.”

“No, I don’t. Not yet. But I will. We both will. You can count on that.”

Another squeeze from that fist.

I nod against his chest, embarrassed and pleased and eager all at once.

And as he falls asleep beneath me, I get to know him in a way that friendship and flirting and sex haven’t allowed, completely undone and made honest by sleep. I learn the rhythm of his breaths, the unhurried beat of his heart when he’s completely at rest. I discover what his face looks like when it’s free of his usual charm and bravado. I study how he looks when he is entirely his own, not the entertainer, not the athlete, not the flirt. And like music stripped of its enhancements and frills, he’s somehow better in this simple form.

I’m still awake when my alarm goes off for the first time. I prop myself up on my elbow and gently but firmly shake his shoulder.

“Mateo.”

He groans and mumbles something, and I shake him a little harder. His eyelids lift, and he regards me a moment, before smiling in this brilliantly sexy, sleepy way. I lean across him to flip on the bedside lamp. He winces at the light and clamps an arm around my waist, trapping me in my prone position. With his eyes squeezed shut he says, “Turn it off.”

“Let me see your eyes first.”

He complies, but doesn’t release his grip on my waist, so I’m practically on top of him as I study his pupils. They’re still not reacting to light as much as they should, but they’re the same size, which is good.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Nineteen.”

I blink. I hadn’t known that he was younger than me. He’s so much more experienced and confident that I assumed he was older.

“I see that look,” he says. “I’ll be twenty in January, so don’t go thinking I’m too young for you.”

“I’m not. I just didn’t know. That’s all. I assumed you were older.”

It also occurs to me that my whole point in asking was to see if he could think clearly, but since I don’t know how old he is, I have no way of knowing if he’s lucid.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Monday.”

“And do you know where you are?”

He smirks. “Your bed.” He tugs one of my legs over him until I’m straddling him. “Between your thighs.”

Well, he certainly seems coherent. But just for my own curiosity, I ask, “How tall are you?”

“Six two.”

Ha! I was right.

I smile and he asks, “Do I pass inspection, Nurse Nell?”

“You’ll do, I suppose.”

He smiles, and lets his eyes fall shut. I set my alarm again for two hours later and reach out to turn off the light. It’s dark in my room except for the low glow of a streetlamp outside filtering through a crack in my curtains. I try to slide off him, but his arms are still tight around me. When I start to pry his arm away, he rolls onto his side, taking me with him. One of his arms ends up under my head, and the other goes around my waist and burrows up the back of my shirt to touch my bare skin.

“Better?” he asks, his words a mumble against my forehead.

Both of my arms are curled awkwardly between us, and there’s definitely no way I can sleep like this. Even if I could find something to do with my arms, I feel like I can’t breathe this close to him. The air between us is too warm and thick, and I’ll never be able to stop thinking.

When I’ve gone several long seconds without answering, he pulls his hand away from my back and leans away a little. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s just . . . I don’t know what to do with my arms. I’ve never slept in a bed with another person. Well, except for the other night with you, but I was, um, so tired I didn’t really think about it.”

“Another first. Roll over. I’ll give you a lesson in spooning.”

I flip to my other side, and this time when he slips his arm around me, there are no awkward limbs. There’s no space between us either. His chest is pressed flat against my back and his legs curled around mine, and I can still feel him breathe like this. And not just his chest either . . . like this I can feel all of him, touching from top to toes. I can feel him half hard against my bottom, too.

“This okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

Better than okay. And with his arms around me, the fist finally eases enough that I slip into sleep.





Chapter 24

Mateo



A miracle happens.

Nell skips all her classes the next day to sleep late with me. Even though she’d sworn last time that it would never happen again. I didn’t even have to ask. When the alarm went off, she reached over and turned it off like she’d been doing all through the night, but instead of getting up and getting ready for school, she crawled back into my arms.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t announce what she was doing. She just turned the thing off for good and settled back in with me.

Sleeping was not how I wanted to celebrate her loosening the reins a bit, but it was my only option. And something about just lying together like this felt better anyway.

By the time we’re awake for good, my symptoms have eased to nuisance level. The sensitivity to light and sound is the worst, but still bearable. My thoughts still occasionally wander off, but it’s rare enough that most people will just think I’m distracted. I’ve skipped all my classes, though that has less to do with the concussion and more to do with Nell, but there’s no skipping my daily workout and practice.

But I’m having trouble leaving Nell’s room.

There’s no need for her to monitor me for another night, but twice now I’ve slept with her beside me. I know what it’s like to wake to her soft thighs pressed against mine, to be surrounded by the smell of her hair and skin—I can’t un-know something like that. And I want it again. Even though, as a general rule, I don’t spend the night with girls. I made an exception that first night because it was her first time, and I didn’t want her to feel like I was running out on her. But that was supposed to be it. Supposed to be.

But Nell is never easy to put into a box. Just when I think I know where she fits in my life, she rearranges things. And really, what would it hurt to break this one rule? Just every once in a while. Not all the time. I want to enjoy the feel of waking up to her again when my mind isn’t battered and foggy.

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop, e-mailing excuses to her professors. Her long, dark hair is twisted into this thick knot on top of her head. There’s one lock that didn’t make it in, and it falls loose and curly against her long neck. Before I really know what I’m doing, I’m climbing onto the bed behind her and reaching for those rogue strands. I settle in behind her, one of my legs on each side of hers.

“Tunnels tonight?”

She frowns, tilting her head slightly back toward me. “We can wait for all that stuff until you’re fully recovered.”

I lift my hands to her shoulders, kneading gently. “Hell no. You’re on a deadline, after all. Gotta get all your wild and crazy out before you graduate.” She opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it. And I wonder if she can hear the slight edge to my voice when I talk about her graduating. Not that I have a right to be pissed about it, but I can’t help it. I don’t like having a deadline. I don’t like not having a choice about how much time I get with her. I decide to keep talking so she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. “Besides, it’s not like the tunnels are going to be physically demanding. If I can make it through practice, I can definitely walk down some concrete tunnels. And then who knows, maybe I’ll even feel up to some more physical exertion afterward.”