Phoenix shifts in the bed next to me and I’m still wide awake. She throws her arm over my stomach and moves right up next to me, laying her head on my chest. This should be weird, and while it is…it’s not. It’s one of those things where it feels right. She feels right. Even though she’s been a complete asshole, I’ve always had this pull to her like there is something my soul identifies with deep within her. And isn’t the pull of another person’s soul the most electrifying sensation?

She’s breathing hard and heavy, clinging to me like she doesn’t want to be alone either, and in this world, it’s all you ever can be. Alone, because the minute you let someone in, they usually fuck you.

I put my arm around her, combing my fingers through her hair, just soaking up the raw side of humanity I think I’ve possibly forgotten about. This…this is the quiet I’ve been looking for, the normal, and for the first time in years, when I finally close my eyes, I drift into a restless sleep.

The creaking of the door wakes me. My eyes blink open. The sun pouring through the window nearly blinds me. “Shit,” I groan, covering my eyes as I sit up in the bed. I hear something fall.

Phoenix swears under her breath. “Where are my shoes?” she whispers, I guess to herself.

“You weren’t wearing any when I found you,” I say, and drop my hand from my face.

“Found me,” she snorts. “What am I now? A stray dog?”

“You’re a little scary yet endearing like one.” I laugh. She doesn’t.

“Shit, my head is killing me.”

“The way you were puking last night, I don’t doubt it.”

She covers her face with her hand and sighs. “Shit.”

I glance at the clock and flop back on the bed. “Why are you up at six in the morning?”

“Because I’m still drunk.”

I pat the bed. “You need more sleep.”

“I need to leave… Oh god, I need to leave.” I prop up on my elbows and she drops her chin to her chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Oh come on now. I’ve seen much worse.”

“That’s no consolation.”

I glance at my Nirvana shirt she’s still wearing. “So you were trying to leave with my Nirvana shirt? That’s an original I found at a thrift store in Savannah.”

She glances down at it, then back up at me, her eyes slowly widening and a ripple of fear crossing her face. “Oh god.” She gasps. “Did I fuck you?”

I stare at her. I really should fuck with her, but even I’m not that big of a dick. “No.”

“Thank god.”

“You know, you really know how to make a man feel good.”

“You’re more like a man-child, really.” She crosses the room, stopping at the foot of the bed to toss the comforter back. “Where’s my shirt?” I point to the other side of the room where her vomit shirt lays crumpled on the floor. Huffing, she walks over and snatches it up. “I really am sorry about last night…” she starts to pull my shirt over her head.

“You do realize your t-shirt has vomit all over it?”

She glances down at the shirt in her hand and snarls. “Oh…right.”

“It’s fine, you can borrow the Nirvana shirt.” I smile.

“Thanks. Jesus, I’m such a shithead.”

“Nah, just a rock star in training. It’s fine, I don’t mind taking you under my wing.”

A soft grin shapes her lips. “And thank you for not being a dick and taking advantage of me.”

I shrug. “I’m not Rush, and besides, I watched you hurl for a good ten minutes.”

“Right…” her cheeks blush and I find it fucking adorable. “Well, thanks for letting me stay and not letting me die and all that jazz.”

“All that jazz?” I laugh.

“Yeah, all that jazz…” She heads toward the door. “I’ll get your shirt back to you.”

I start to tell her not to worry about it, but it gives me an excuse to see her again. I crawl out of bed, shoving my hand down my pants to adjust my morning wood, and her eyes track the movement like a hawk. I grin. She rolls her eyes.

“Really?” she huffs.

“What, you want it sticking out like a tent pole? It’s hazardous to walk around with that shit.” I shrug, and she walks through the door and into the hall. I follow her out of the room. “Want breakfast?”

“Ugh, the thought of food makes me want to barf again.”

“Oh, come on. Some greasy hash browns and eggs would make you feel better.”

She fakes a gag. At least I hope she’s faking that shit because I’m not mopping up puke. I follow her down the stairs and into the living room. She stops in front of that picture of my mom for a second before she heads toward the back door. Suddenly, I remember the handprint on her arm.

“Hey, you know, why don’t you let me walk you to your car?”

She turns around. “I’m fine.”

“Come on, just let me walk you.”

She arches a single brow.

“Look,” I say, “you were upset last night and the handprint – you know I saw that. I just can’t –”

“Oh shit, Stone,” she says, placing a hand on my bare chest, “it’s fine. I grew up with Harvey. He got shitfaced and he tried to kiss me. It was nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. And I also kissed you.” Ouch. “It was the tequila. I’m fine. I don’t need saving, okay?” She drops her hand from my chest, and I stare at her for a second. “Oh my god, he was my stepbrother. Okay, he’s fine.”

“Dear god, Jimmy Rage and fucking Henry Edwards? Your mom was on a roll, huh?”

“Something like that…” she shakes her head and reaches for the door.

“Hey,” I stop her. “If you don’t want me following you, at least text me and let me know you got home okay?”

“Oh for the love…” She pulls her phone out and hands it to me. “Put your number in.”

I take it from her and type my number in, smiling when I hand her phone back.

Her gaze drops to my mouth and she bites down on her bottom lip before turning around and pushing open the door. “I’ll get your shirt back to you. Promise.” There’s a little hop in her step when she walks out the door, and damn, if it’s not the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. She’s sexy. And bitchy. And funny. And cute. A deadly combination, because it’s the cute that really gets me. That innocent, I don’t give a shit what you think about me vibe is like a barb right in my heart. Shit, that woman is push and pull. And I don’t know what to do with that. I really, really don’t.